Shadows
by BlackBird-1994
Summary: Katniss drifts back into life in District 12, but realises that things will never be the same, particularly between her and Peeta. When she, Peeta and Haymitch are called to the Capitol, things go awry as Katniss finds herself once again a pawn in someone else's game. And worse, she's drawn Gale in with her and it's up to Peeta and Haymitch to find them. Please read & review!
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

_Hot and humid air. Baking sun and steaming jungle. A vision of the lightning tree standing tall before me as heat waves push up from the ground, distorting my vision. In the distance, I can hear Peeta's cry: loud, tortured and terrifying._

_My heart aches painfully and beats quickly at the same time and there is an emptiness in the pit of my stomach that I try to push down. No matter how hard I try, it always comes back up. I want to move to save him, but instead my mouth fills with saliva and a stinging sour taste as I fall to my knees on the burning sand. Horror overcomes me when I look down and see the skin on my hands and arms covered in raw sores and swollen blisters. The sight of it makes me retch, racking my chest violently and tying my stomach into painful knots until I feel it, the thing, coming up from the depths of my stomach and up my throat. It hits the sand below me, a gloopy string of black, disgusting gunk. I cough it up and it oozes out, this blackness within me..._

I awake with a gasp. My heart's racing and sweat is pouring down my forehead and matting the clothes to my back. The mid-afternoon sun is blazing down, stinging my eyes and burning my skin. I sit up, peeling the sweat-soaked shirt up off my torso. My mouth is parched and I try to think how long it's been since I dozed off so carelessly, deep in these woods beyond the fence that surrounds District Twelve. But then I remember things have changed and I don't have to worry about the repercussions of being on Capitol-designated land anymore.

I'd gone into the woods this morning to hunt but found my feet leading me towards the lake—my father's lake. The place that holds so many memories for me and is now the only place that can draw me out of the dark emptiness. It's here where he taught me how to swim. It's here where I would play in its cool depths while he caught water fowl or fished or dug for roots. It was the source of our family's nourishment, this place.

A gentle breeze is blowing and ripples the surface of the water, breaking the reflection of the blue sky and green tree tops above. Before I let myself think any further, I get up, strip to my undergarments and wade into the lake. I dip my head under the surface, sighing inwardly at the immediately cooling effect. Wiggling my feet into the wet sand, I relish the tickling feeling between my toes. Once I'm further in, I begin to swim, counting each stroke and each lap I make. Fifty strokes to one lap. One hundred strokes, two laps. One fifty, three laps...

It's mind-numbing, mechanical. Before I know it, I'm breathless and I burst through the surface of the water, my lungs rasping for air. Swimming like this helps me. It stops my mind from thinking too much, from wallowing in regrets and past actions and memories. But at some point, I need to stop and breathe. I need to come back to reality.

Sopping wet, I trudge back to my pile of clothes baked paper dry in the heat. The sun hangs low in the sky, which tells me that it must be late afternoon by now. Refreshed and awake, I pull my clothes back on and take a deep breath of the warm air.

At my feet sits my faithful bow and quiver of arrows. I reach down and pick up my bow, running my hand along its length, feeling the curve of the soft wood. Many years ago, my father's hands and knife created this. I've caught nothing yet, but maybe the walk back will yield something.

I trek through the woods, back to the village. This is where Gale and I hunted together, only a few years ago. This is where I was happy. As I walk, I think, _now - am I happy now?_ With everything that's changed? People have their freedom, but what do I have?

A lost friend, a dead sister, and a mother who finds it too painful to come back home. My loving father now a distant memory.

It's been six months since I've been back and I've been trying to think of ways to go on. It was alright before with Gale by my side and our families to feed. They depended on us and we had each other. Now there is nothing. I had been played with to the very end and then tossed aside like a forgotten toy, gathering dust in a dark corner of this place that is my home. I've withdrawn, doing nothing, saying nothing; I have nothing left to give.

As I walk, the ground beneath me becomes harder and turns into the familiar dirt road that leads in to town and my old neighbourhood, the Seam. In the distance, I can see the new buildings that make up the town square with the new Justice Building at the centre. Meanwhile, traders have set up shop right in the middle of the square, their carts and stalls laden with fresh vegetables and fruits, cured meats, grains and spices. None of the rodent-ridden rations from the Capitol - these are sourced directly from the districts. I think about heading into town - perhaps catching up with Thom, who's now working on filling in and closing off the mines. He's probably finished and having a drink at Ripper's, but I don't feel like keeping up with his chit-chat today. Instead, I take a right at the next path and head towards the Victor's Village, where my house, dark and empty, awaits me.

Before heading in, I sprinkle the primrose bushes with rainwater. In this heat, the soil has become dusty and dry and I soak the roots, watching the water seep into the ground, turning it a dark shade of mud black-brown. The flowers are now flourishing and have burst into full, colourful bloom. They're beautiful, but the smell nauseates me still. I can't stay around them for too long, so I head into the coolness of the house.

In the bathroom, I peel off my clothing and place it carefully in the clothes basket. I lean over the sink, looking back at the young woman in the mirror. Her hair has grown back unevenly, only just enough to cover the burn scars on her scalp. In fact, the burn scars are all over most her body, which has become used to the replacement skin. But you can tell where the new skin stops and her own skin starts. Raised scars, like lines on a map, pattern her arms, shoulders, most of her neck and legs. The new skin shines whiter than her own olive-toned skin. Like a patchwork quilt. I turn on the shower and get underneath, scrubbing myself clean for the second time today.

When I come back downstairs, I find Greasy Sae in the kitchen heating a pot of stew. I greet her and her granddaughter, Juniper, who's seated at the table drawing circles on pieces of parchment with intense concentration. I take the seat opposite her and continue to watch. She doesn't look up and remains stuck in her own world. Apparently, she's never been right in the head, but who is these days?

The aroma of the stew fills the kitchen. My mouth begins to water and I thank Greasy Sae as she sets before me a large bowl and a plate of cheese buns. She sits next to me with a small bowl of her own.

"I tried to hunt today," I confess to her.

"No luck, huh?"

"I fell asleep."

Greasy Sae sighs. "I've been looking forward to some rabbit. A nice spring vegetable soup with rabbit." She smacks her lips.

"Sounds good," I say as I scoop up the savoury, hot goodness. I break open a cheese bun, dunk a piece of bread in and pop it in my mouth. Delicious.

Suddenly my memory flashes back to the Victory Tour dinner ball. Tables laden with a seemingly endless variety of food and me wanting to sample every single dish. That euphoric feeling that overcame me when I realised that I hadn't succeeded in convincing Snow. I wouldn't have succeeded anyway, no matter how much I tried. Peeta having to finish my leftovers. The elixir that made you throw up so you could eat as many things as you wanted.

A sudden wave of nausea washes over me and I cough as I clutch my stomach, retching over the table. I push the feeling down, not wanting Greasy Sae's good stew to come back up. A sour, burning taste comes up in my mouth as Greasy Sae rubs my back, keeping a firm hand on my shoulder. "It's okay. If it comes out, it comes out, it's alright."

Tears sting my eyes as her granddaughter continues to draw never ending circles on the parchment.

"We can keep this for later. I'll put it back in the pot and you can heat it up when you feel like." She takes the bowl away and there's a slushing sound at the stove.

I pull my knees up on the chair and rest my forehead on them, trying to keep down the sourness and saliva that keeps filling my mouth. I push it out of my mind, the liquid in the small wine glass. The way Peeta's fingers had set the glass down on the table. So delicately, so carefully, as if it were a bomb about to explode.

Greasy Sae finishes washing and places a mug on the table. "Drink this."

I nod silently as she calls to Juniper to leave. The front door closes. The house is silent. I'm not sure how long I stay like this, curled up on the chair with my head resting on my knees, swallowing down the saliva that keeps filling my mouth. I find the strength to lift my head and pull the mug closer to me. It's mint leaves steeped in hot water, which has now become lukewarm.

As darkness begins to fall, I lower my feet to the floor. The smell of the stew still fills the kitchen and for some reason, it nauseates me. I jump up from the chair, throw open the windows and cover the pot with the lid. That's not enough though, so I wrap the entire pot tightly with dish cloths and place it inside the cold cupboard. Then I take the dishes that Greasy Sae has just cleaned and wash them again with more soapy hot water. After, I scrub my hands until they are red and stinging.

Only then do I feel much better.

.

By morning, the heat has broken and the sky is overcast and mild. After my shower and scrub, I shuffle about the house, opening the windows to let in the cool air.

The phone rings and I know who it is before I go to answer it. I've tried to rearrange the study so that it reminds me less of the time when Snow came to visit but to no avail. I can never stay in that room for too long so I keep it quick. "Hey."

"Morning Katniss. You okay?" Peeta's voice sounds through the line.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Come on over," I reply. The phone goes silent.

He always calls before coming over. No more night visits, no more sharing the same bed. That finished a long time ago. A part of me aches for him, for his strong, steady arms and warmth in the night. Instead, there is only loneliness and nightmares. Some nights are so rough I awake only to find myself on the floor, my arms and legs covered in bruises.

When he returned and I found him outside planting the primrose bushes, I thought he was finally back. We could go back to being how we were. But I was wrong. He remained distant and I sunk deeper into depression. I stopped taking Dr Aurelius's calls and he stopped calling altogether. And then I got worse. There was nothing else to do. Haymitch never left his house, unless it was to stock up on more alcohol. At least Hazelle was there, helping him. I didn't feel like dealing with the stares of the townspeople. There was Gale's siblings who I saw occasionally, but they only reminded me of him.

And the thing is, the more time that Peeta and I spent together, the more confused I became. I didn't know how to take him. Sometimes I would see flashes of his old self, but then his demeanour would suddenly change and he would become cold in an instant, as if a switch was flicked. I don't understand it. What did he go through during those few months he'd stayed back at the Capitol? Was he cured? Did he still have flashbacks? It's like he's here, but he's not. It's just not the same and my heart aches for the old Peeta, the one I'd lost in the second arena.

Haymitch once said that I could have done a lot worse, and he wasn't wrong there. Only I didn't realise it until the old Peeta was out of reach, hijacked with the tracker jacker venom to become enslaved by the torturous devices of the Capitol. I feel like I've lost something and will never be able to retrieve it again. We've gone through so much and have been scarred, both physically and mentally, beyond the repair of any fancy Capitol treatment. Maybe I'm simply too afraid to lead him back to me once and for all. And what I'm waiting for, I don't know.

A few moments after he's hung up, Peeta arrives with his hands full of parchment, pens and a large, thick heavy book, which he places on the coffee table in the living room. "I thought you would like this."

He opens the book and preserved between the very last few pages is an evening primrose in the shade of pink, dried flat, its odour faded. I sink into the couch, touched by the gesture. The boy with the bread. Then the pearl, and now the flower. Does he not know what he's doing to me?

He sits himself on the rug and begins to glue the rose on to a piece of parchment. "We can start adding other people to the book. Victims of the war—because really, it was all one big game, wasn't it?" He pushes the parchment with the flower glued on it and an ink pen toward me while he sets to work sketching. "Maybe we can add Prim."

Prim. My little duck. Memories of you... all the good things. I try to think carefully of what I want to say, how I want to word this, but his last sentence echoes in my head. Victims of war. War is just one big game where nobody wins.

I put the pen to parchment and begin to write carefully.

_Primrose Everdeen._

_You were fourteen years old. You were my little sister. We used to sing the Hanging Tree together. I used to tuck your shirt in for you before school but it never stayed. I always called it your ducktail and you would quack. You were my little duck._

_You were always the braver one. Wiser, more rational than any of us. You were going to be a doctor._

I stop writing because what I want to write next has become too much for my addled brain. There is a huge, painful lump in my throat and I can't seem to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Peeta looks up at me, his hand closing over mine. His touch is comforting.

My pen drops to the table and I realise that my hands are shaking badly. Finally, I seem to find my voice, though the words come out dull and strangled. "I volunteered to protect her, to save her life. But in the end, it wasn't any use, was it? She's gone all the same."

He remains silent, taking a moment to put the finishing touches on his drawing and I look down at his work. His sketch of Prim is beautiful. I'm amazed at how he can draw her in such detail and bring her to life on paper. Next to him, I feel like a talentless blob.

He pauses, the ink pen frozen just above the paper. His long lashes stay down for a while and I begin to wonder what he's thinking, whether he's having another moment. But then they flicker up and his clear blue eyes are piercing mine. I'm struck by the heaviness there, the sadness. There is something else in his eyes that I can't place at all, an urgency of some sort. His brow is furrowed and Peeta places his pen carefully down on the table without a sound.

"Please, don't _ever_ think like that," he says. "You can't dwell on it. That's not what she would have wanted."

He doesn't let go of my hand.

"I'm not condoning what Coin chose to do with those bombs. It was a despicable move. All I'm saying is, Katniss," Peeta strokes the back of my hand gently with his thumb. "She would not have wanted you to go on like this."

No, of course not.

I lean back on the couch, crumpling against it. I am too exhausted, defeated and lost. There is an emptiness inside of me, a dark void I'll never be able to fill. I couldn't even begin to fill. And as the days have gone by, it's grown even larger.

The girl on fire? She's burned out.

Peeta hesitates, watching my reaction, and continues speaking. "When you killed Coin instead of Snow and tried to swallow the nightlock, I thought I'd lost you for good. I never even got to see you after you came out of your trial. And now..."

He trails off.

We've never spoken about that moment before now, when I'd tried to kill myself after killing Coin and he'd ripped the pill from the pocket of my shoulder. I was furious that he had taken away my final moment. I could tell he was angry at me too, but I didn't care. Coin would have killed me anyway. Only one can survive.

He goes silent and looks away. And now...what? What is it? Does he think I'm the crazy one now?

"_What happened to you, Katniss_?"

He says it so softly that I almost miss it. Did I just hear right? What _is_ happening to me? Is this distance between us, his coldness, imagined? Is it me—am _I_ the one who's changed? Perhaps, on some unconscious level, I'm afraid of what will happen if I let him in. Because everyone I love seems to go away.

Peeta continues to speak to me, but I don't hear. I don't look at him. I'm ashamed, guilty, uncaring and cold. After a while, he puts away the papers and the large book and leaves the room.

.

It's late afternoon when Peeta retires to his home across the green. He leaves me some dinner, a bit of salad leaves with goat's cheese on the kitchen bench and a few more of his cheese rolls. I eat it as quickly as I can, trying not to breathe in the scent of the food, chewing as much as possible before swallowing. Then I wash the plate and put it away, out of sight.

It's then that I notice an envelope hiding underneath the bread bag. I pull it out, but more envelopes spill across the counter. There must be dozens stacked underneath that bag. I push it aside and pick up the first one from the pile, turning it over in my hands. On the back of the envelope, printed in Peeta's careful handwriting, is today's date.

I frown, wondering what it could be as I tear open it open and pull out the parchment. It's the same paper that we use for the Tributes book. As I start to read, I realise that it's a letter from Peeta. These are all letters—there must be dozens of them. My heart begins to race as I read.

_Katniss,_

_Every time I see you, it breaks my heart. Today was the first time we spoke of the rebellion since we've been back. The way you leant back on the couch and shut me off was unbearable. That's why I had to leave._

_Dr Aurelius told me to write these letters to you. He said it would help me recover from what Snow did. But it's hard, Katniss, not being able to say these things when you are right here in front of me. I know you can hear me, but you don't listen. It's like there's a wall of silence you create around yourself that I can't penetrate, no matter how hard I try._

_I found the pot of stew in the cupboard, hidden away. I wish I could understand you these days. Your skin, your hands have been cleaned raw, like you're trying to rid yourself of something. Of the past, perhaps?_

_I still remember the good things about you. Your beautiful voice and how the mockingjays would stop to listen. They would burst into song afterwards. The way you picked that dandelion after school. It was the day after I gave you the bread. We've talked often about that moment. Even the time we spent in the arena, the first one. I think the happiest moments of my life were spent in that cave. I can pull those memories back up now and I can tell which ones are real and which aren't. The thing is, the more that I can remember, the more painful it is to see you like this._

_I'm trying really hard to do everything I can to bring you back to me. When I was ready to give up, you saved me. You told me that you and I, we protect each other, that's what we do. _

_At times I feel it's hopeless, but I'll always be here waiting for you._

_Peeta_

I stare at the letter, at each word so carefully chosen and written on the parchment. There are so many words in this world; some words are tossed about meaninglessly, some words form deliberate sentences that strike at the heart. And his words, be they spoken or written, get me every time.

As I sink to the kitchen floor, the realisation dawns on me. It _was_ me who was pushing him away, creating this distance. The letter affirms that. And it's happened, the thing that I had subconsciously swore never, ever to do. To fall into that depression as my mother had done. It was easier with Prim there to support. Prim needed me. My mother needed me. Now that I'm no longer needed, what am I to do?

Slowly, one after the other, I read through all of them. Some aren't letters at all. In one envelope, I find a picture of a beautiful, green meadow. In another, a watercolour of a deep orange sunset that paints the landscape a soft ochre. A paragraph that could almost be a poem. In one of them, I think there is nothing at all, but when I tip the envelope upside down and shake it, a pressed dried dandelion falls to the floor. It's this that breaks me as I hold it up carefully in my cracked fingertips. The petals are a dusty yellow and the stem as fragile as the thinnest shred of parchment. It was once beautiful and bursting with life. Now it's just a flat shadow of its former self, its colours muted with age.

Hot tears well up in my eyes. When is he going to realise that I'm no good? Deep inside of me lies this black _thing_ that I'll never be rid of, this thing that caused all this death and destruction. And yet I ache for him so much—a touch, a kiss, a gentle whisper.

I feel something furry nudge into my lap. Buttercup mews at me as sobs begin to rack my chest. "It's true... Prim..." Buttercup, stops mewing and looks at me eagerly at the sound of her name. "Prim wouldn't have wanted me to go on like this."

I need to live. I've been waiting for a reason to go on, and I suddenly realise that I shouldn't _have_ to have a reason. To go on living is a gift in itself. Prim's life was cut off much too early. I'll need to live it for the both of us. I need this. I cry it out, right there on the kitchen floor, surrounded by these tokens from Peeta. I'm not sure how long I stay down there, but eventually, the tears stop.

I carefully replace each letter in its envelope, stacking them neatly in chronological order. I take them upstairs and open my wooden box, where I keep my mockingjay pendant, the spile and the parachute. I place those letters in the box and put them away for safe keeping.

It takes everything I have to pull myself together. With renewed purpose, I braid the remainder of my hair and glance at myself in the mirror. My face is all puffy from crying. No longer will I go on like this, pitying this person who looks back at me. A new chapter will start from today, from this very moment.

I take a deep breath, head downstairs and out the door. The sun is almost setting, signalling another end of a hot summer day. I run across the green, sprinting towards Peeta's house. I want to confront him. I want an answer. What are we now, if not lovers, if not friends?

I don't stop to knock. I burst through the front door, breathless. But something stops me as I step into the front hallway and a look around, confused.

Have I gotten the right house? I'm quite sure I have. I've only been here once before, and it's now completely changed. Gone are the bare, white walls. Instead, they're now painted a soft meadow-green with wild flowers dotted along the bottom of the left wall that leads to the door of the living room. To my right, a stream of water has been painted with cool grey rocks and sandy, muddy-brown banks. The detail of the painting and the colours dance before me as I realise what I've stepped into.

It's a mural of the first arena.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

I run my hand along the side of the green wall painted with flowers. There's yellow dandelions, flowering wild onion tops and evening primroses of every shade. It's beautiful.

"There's more."

I look up. Peeta stands in the doorway at the end of the hall leading to the kitchen. The light of the setting sun streams through behind him. He studies me, waiting for me to make a move.

I take a step closer to him. "I read your letters."

He nods slowly, narrowing his eyes at me in scrutiny. Perhaps trying to make sense of my purpose in being here after all these months.

"To be honest...now...I don't know what to do now," I continue. "It's like I'm lost."

"Welcome to the club, sweetheart," a voice chimes behind him and I immediately know that there is only one person in this world who calls me that.

"Haymitch!" I'm surprised that he's not back at his own place, lost in a drunken stupor.

He appears behind Peeta, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks tired, a little pale with dark circles under his eyes; but overall, he looks a lot better than the last time I saw him, stumbling blindly towards Ripper's stall. I was with Thom at the time, trading a few rabbits that had wandered into Gale's snares. Haymitch had bought his bottle of liquor, but before he could open it and take a drink, he had vomited right in the middle of the town square and passed out in his own mess. As disgusted as I was, everyone present had turned to look at me, as if to ask, _what are you going to do?_

Thom had helped me drag him back to his place. I didn't have enough energy or patience to clean him down, so we'd dumped him on his couch and left him there.

"I see you're done feeling sorry for yourself," he says.

My cheeks flush hot, in anger because I don't think he's in any position to be lecturing me on my behaviour, and in embarrassment, because truth be told, I am ashamed of how I've been acting. And who the hell does he think he is to say that, considering how I'd dragged him out of his own foul mess not last week. "Speak for yourself."

Haymitch only chuckles. "Nice to have you back."

In the kitchen, Haymitch pours himself a small glass of liquor while Peeta and I sip mint tea at the table. A half finished card game lies forgotten on the tabletop.

Haymitch downs his first glass in one shot and I can already smell the fumes coming from his breath as he pours another. "You saw what state some of the victors were in last year. Broken, crazy, drugged up or, like me, drunk as hell. Of course they're all dead, now."

Of course they are. Snow and the rebels took care of that.

He takes only a sip this time and continues. "The Games kept us busy, having to mentor year after year. Watching tributes die, watching fellow victors fade away...they thought our talents and mentoring would keep the craziness at bay."

"Well, it's different now, isn't it?" I say. "We don't have to do that anymore with the Games finished and Paylor in government. The rules have changed."

Peeta shakes his head. "Rules are one thing. Even if the heaviest of laws have been abolished among the districts, do you really think the Peacekeepers' attitudes towards district citizens have really changed? Or the attitudes of Capitol citizens?"

Peeta gathers the cards and begins to put them in order while he continues. "The rebellion and the invasion was only one step. The biggest challenge for Paylor is changing the way Capitol citizens behave. It means changing a cultural and belief system that's been in place for over a hundred years. To be honest, I don't know if that's even possible."

I catch Haymitch's eye and we have a moment of understanding. Eloquent and diplomatic, Peeta had always been the better of us. What he says is disappointing, yet realistic, after everything that we've been through. But there's a streak of pessimism that cuts through each word almost painfully. The old Peeta would have tried to see good in everything, in everyone.

"What do you think, Haymitch?" I ask.

Haymitch takes a moment to drain his second glass and begins to pour another. "He's not wrong there. You could say that these Capitol folk...it's like they weren't raised right. They were born to take life and everything they have for granted. Only to consume, never to give back. Some even think themselves as a superior species to us in the districts. Whatever Paylor's planning, it's going to take months, maybe even years, of campaigning and re-education."

I sip my tea, mulling over his words. Yes, we've changed the system—physically. But the real challenge is the system within each person, the beliefs and cultures and traditions each person holds. The kind of system that accumulated from generation to generation. And we're going to change it…how? The thought strikes me suddenly. I speak slowly, as if I don't believe it to be true. "Well then...we're not done yet, are we? As the faces of the rebellion...we're still in the game. Aren't we, Haymitch?"

I look at him. His eyes are red, staring down in to the bottle between his hands. At some point during my revelation, he dismissed the tiny glass and started drinking right from it.

"Even if you win...it never ends. You play for life, kids." He takes a swig and falls silent.

"Well, we'll have to keep fighting then, won't we? I made a promise to Prim." I say. "We _have_ to win."

I begin to feel it, like a glowing ember about to ignite. "We're victors! We've survived two arenas _and_ the front line!"

It's then that Haymitch and Peeta glance at each other. It's the shortest of glances, but I manage to catch it. They know something. They're sharing a secret, like they've got their own game going on and a wave of suspicion rises up within me.

"What is it?" I demand.

Peeta clears his throat. "Plutarch called us last week. He's got an idea for a show."

"What sort of show?" I ask. "Not his dreadful singing idea!"

"The Tributes Memorial is about to open soon at the Capitol. Plutarch's invited us to the ceremony. And he's got an idea for some sort of show to coincide with the event. Some sort of Capitol campaign," Haymitch explains. "He wants to bring you back out. Garner the people's support for the Paylor government."

"Like that's gonna work," I say sarcastically.

"Think what you like. As your mentor, I'd advise you to be ready tomorrow at ten a.m. for our first meeting. Plutarch's paying us a visit. We can at least hear him out." Haymitch stands up, draining the remainder of the bottle and makes to leave.

"I don't want to have to hose you off in the morning," Peeta calls as Haymitch shuffles to the front door. "The train was the first and last time."

Haymitch responds with an indistinct grumble and the door slams behind him. The house goes silent.

My mint tea's gone cold. I chew on the leaves, which settles my stomach as I realise I haven't eaten all day. I'm afraid to look at Peeta, afraid of what I may see in his eyes, perhaps because the last few months I've been acting like a crazy person. I don't know how to begin this. I feel like I'm now ready to let him in a little bit and maybe I can start to let some of that craziness go. Take a chance.

My heart begins to beat faster in my chest as I stretch my hand out on the table towards his. I now know what I want to ask. He's watching me carefully when I finally meet his gaze. "Is it true, what you wrote today?"

There is a long, tense silence as Peeta processes my question. He did love me. A lot. He knows that himself. We've experienced so much together and we've protected each other for so long that, for me, it's second nature. No questions asked.

I watch him think, his mind turning like clockwork behind his eyes. He tenses and then suddenly relaxes. He puts his other hand on top of mine and looks into my eyes. "Every word."

_This_ is what I'm talking about. This is what's making me so confused. If he'd just responded straight away, I wouldn't be having any second thoughts. Why had it taken so long for him to reply? What is going on in his mind? I could have read the old Peeta like an open book. He was good like that, dependable. In that way, he made me feel safe and secure.

I'm searching through my doubts, trying to find that sense of relief I was expecting to feel. When I kissed him and tried to bring him back that day of the invasion, I wasn't entirely sure if it had worked. Now I don't know what else I can do or say to bring him back to me.

Frustrated, I pull my hand away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

I push the chair back and stand up, prepared to leave when Peeta jumps up. "No, wait!"

There is a panic in his voice that makes me stop. I've never heard him like this before. When I turn to him, there's a look in his eyes, desperate and pleading. Eyes that glint in the light of the setting sun.

"Please...stay. Just for tonight."

And he's back again, my old Peeta, who wraps me in his arms and buries his nose in my hair. I relax my body against his and melt into his warmth. His smell and the feel of him against me is all too familiar. I've missed it so much. Nothing more needs to be said. For now, I don't want to ruin the moment. I don't want to let him go.

As night rolls in, we eat a light supper of chicken broth and bread. With Peeta, it stays down. Upstairs, his room is sparse; there's a dresser against the wall and his bed against the window. The faint scent of cinnamon and dill emanates from his bed sheets, his pillow, from his warm body and clothes. Through the open window, the sounds of the wind in the trees and chirping crickets float in with the cool breeze. In the darkness, I finally drift to sleep in his arms.

There are no nightmares that night. It's a peaceful sleep, the kind that refreshes your mind and body and when I wake up, there's a calmness within me that I haven't felt for a long time. It's nice.

I'm surprised to find Peeta's side of the bed empty and I wonder where he is. In the bathroom, I wash my face, rinse my mouth out with water and re-braid my hair neatly. As I look in the mirror once again, it's as if my eyes are finally open. I realise how thin I've become. The bizarre attitude I've had towards food has taken its toll. My eyes appear sunken in and my tired, pale skin is stretched tight across my face. Looking at me now, I can understand Peeta's hesitation. I shake my head at my reflection. _What have you done to yourself,_ I think. People have _died_ because of the lack of food, and here I am, almost disgusted by the sight and smell of it. It's completely wrong.

Back in the bedroom, I remake the bed and look towards the dresser. There are only a few items perched there; two photo frames, one of his father and one of his two older brothers. His abusive, harsh mother is nowhere to be seen. A worn, flour-dusted apron sits next to the photo frames, as if it had been tossed aside carelessly after a tiring day of baking.

I begin to explore. I'm familiar with the layout of his home because all houses in the Victor's Village have been built with the same floor plan. The large master bedroom, which must have been his parents' room, is dark and dusty. It's as if the door hasn't been opened for a very long time and I feel intrusive as I poke my head into the dark room. In the hallway, there's a thick large notebook which I flick through. The pages are filled with sketches, mainly of leaves, plants and wood creatures. I recognise the nightlock and the leaf that Rue used to heal the tracker jacker stings. There are rabbits and squirrels, mockingjays and bluebirds. His lines are strong yet thin, his hands confident. The detail is beautiful.

_This must be where he does his painting_, I assume as I stop outside the study. I open the door halfway and peek my head through. It's dark, so I switch on the light and the room is illuminated immediately. And that's when I see it.

The canvas is huge and fills up most of the space. A sheet has been laid on the floor, which is dotted and smeared with paint. Jars and paint pallets and cups filled with paintbrushes litter a table in the corner of the room. But what strikes me most is the painting itself.

It's a painting of me. It's unmistakeable. I'm a mutt, like the wild dogs in our first arena. I'm rearing on my hind legs and my eyes are cold and grey. My mouth froths and drool drips down on to my black fur. Behind me is a scene enveloped in angry red and orange flames. I recognise the buildings of the old District Twelve town square as it burns from the Capitol's bombs.

Is this how he thought of me when he first saw me in Thirteen? He could have easily broken my neck had we truly been alone in that room. The second time, he'd called me a Capitol mutt. Being strangled half to death was less painful.

The eyes of the painting stare into me. They are cold, heartless and unforgiving. And they know my darkest thoughts and deepest secrets. It's as if he's captured the essence of the real me and painted it onto the canvas. And it unnerves me to my very core. I hurriedly turn my back, close the door tightly and head downstairs, my heart frozen still in my chest.

In the kitchen, there is a lump of dough resting on a baking tray on the counter and the oven is hot. I'm guessing Peeta's gone to fetch Haymitch.

I set a pot of coffee on the stove to brew and pour a cup. I sip it slowly, without milk or sugar. It's dark, strong and bitter. I don't mind the taste now. In the living room, I switch on the television set and flick through each station. There's nothing much, but when I stop at the newscast, there's a brief flicker of a familiar face before the screen cuts to the newsreader.

I would know Gale's face anywhere. His chiselled features, black hair, olive-toned skin and grey eyes. Cousins, they called us. I feel a pang of longing, or perhaps loneliness. Like something's missing. I sorely wish we could go back to how we were, before everything. Always at each other's side, supporting and helping each other. We'd grown so close over the years that we'd never talked about being together. It was just assumed that it would happen - it wasn't even a question. Until the reaping and Peeta.

Now I feel like it's either one or the other. I'm too far gone with Peeta now, but there are too many memories and unspoken words with Gale that I wish we could work through. Maybe after, I can have my old friend back.

I turn the cup around in my hands, thinking about it. I suppose that, no matter how close you can become to another person, you can just as easily drift apart. You both change and start to want different things in life. Which is understandable, with Gale and his fiery, revolutionary spirit. But what about Peeta?

After everything we've been through, would Peeta ever want anyone else? Maybe even Delly Cartwright, who was so good and patient with him in Thirteen and is so nice to everybody, even to someone like me. After what the Capitol did to him, will he eventually go back to being the same person as he was before? Always there, supporting me, holding me at night? Because in all honesty...why would he?

The television brings me back to reality. The words of the newsreader and the images on screen sink into my head, lodging themselves in there.

The image is of three men, their faces blurred, their arms handcuffed behind their back as they're led through a cheering crowd.

_"__The three men are being held without bail, charged with kidnapping and beheading District Eight's head peacekeeper. Five more peacekeeper bodies were found in their headquarters, mutilated beyond recognition."_

I turn off the television.

By nine o'clock, Peeta returns with a grumpy Haymitch in tow, who mumbles a greeting of sorts in my direction then heads immediately into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee.

Peeta lingers in the doorway. "Did you sleep okay? Sorry I left a little early. I wanted to make sure this guy was presentable."

I nod. "It was fine. No nightmares. It's been awhile."

I daren't mention the mutt painting. I'm not sure when I'll bring it up, but I don't think it's now. Peeta steps in, kisses me on the top of my head and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. He doesn't say anything, but looks me in the eyes as if searching for something. Without another word, he heads to the kitchen and I hear the oven door opening and the baking tray sliding inside. Haymitch and Peeta mutter words to each other, but I can't make them out from here.

I'm trying to decipher the look he gave me just now. Was it worry, concern? Was he looking for the mutt inside me? Perhaps looking for signs that I would snap and go crazy?

Soon, the house fills up with the sweet scent of baking bread and both Peeta and Haymitch sit themselves in the living room while I flick listlessly through the channels, trying to push Gale's face out of my mind. Before we know it, there is a quiet hum of a car engine outside. Haymitch sits up, rubbing his eyes, trying to wake himself. Peeta stands up to open the door and I follow him.

The black Capitol car, sleek, clean and shiny, contrasts with its surroundings. As the car doors swing open, Peeta and I immediately seek each other's hands.

The shape of the man who exits the car is unmistakeable. He's gotten wider, for sure, with that perpetual grin on his face and that happy, content air about him. It's Plutarch and after him comes Fulvia, who shields the sun from her eyes with a black notebook while they both look towards us.

Plutarch's face lights up at the sight of us. "Katniss! Peeta! How are my two favourite rebels doing?"

He comes towards us and wraps us both up in his giant, well-padded arms. Fulvia gives us each a light hug and steps back to look at me, her eyes running over the scars that cover my body. "My goodness, Katniss, you're...so thin!"

"Yeah, well, nice to see you, too," I reply. She's always been disgusted at the scar on my wrist, and now that my body's riddled with scars I'm guessing it's taking her everything not to vomit right there on the porch.

Plutarch takes out his pocket watch. "Look Katniss! Still got it."

He runs his thumb over the glass and the mockingjay shines briefly. I smile in return, but it's difficult trying to push down the sick feeling in my stomach as the mockingjay symbol disappears on the surface of the glass. Haymitch appears in the doorway and with an almost Effie-like air, ushers all of us to the dining table to begin our meeting.

We begin the meeting friendly enough. Spreading the freshly baked bread with wild strawberry preserve, Plutarch exclaims over its deliciousness and Peeta's many talents. I eat as much as I can without feeling sick, determined to bring my weight back up again. There's small talk about the state of the Paylor government and the Capitol. Then over more coffee, we get down to business.

Plutarch brushes the crumbs off his belly and clasps his hands together. "No doubt you've heard that the Tributes Memorial will be opening soon at the Capitol. President Paylor's extended an invitation to all surviving victors to attend the opening ceremony. To coincide with the event, we'd also like to air a series of promotional videos—with your input. We'd like to bring you back."

"Are we not forgetting I'm under district arrest?" I ask.

"You'll be given an official pardon in exchange," Plutarch replies.

I mull it over. "What sort of videos are we talking about here?"

Fulvia clears her throat. "Well, we don't have a final plan as yet. But the idea is that we show some scenes of you and Peeta together. There'll be an interview, and perhaps a few district tours."

"People have been dying to know what's been happening with you two," Plutarch says. "And the more we can show, the better we can pacify them and gain their continued support for the new government."

Haymitch is giving Plutarch an evil eye. "Plutarch hasn't said the half of it. There's dissent amongst Capitol citizens. They're wondering what this war was for, why their children died. We need to give them an answer, a reason. This is the beginning of our campaign. We may have won the war, but we haven't won the game. Yet."

Haymitch is looking at me, referencing last night's conversation. As long as we're playing this game, we need to fight. Because I promised Prim that I would try to win.

"We need to prove that we didn't incite this war for freedom alone; it was a war for humanity itself. The people of Capitol need to acknowledge that," Peeta says. "We'll go to the districts that are most in need. The people need to see that. Other districts need to see it."

Fulvia nods, taking note of Peeta's every word.

"You will both be leading the show," Plutarch indicates to Peeta and I. "After your trial, there was uproar. The general consensus of the population - both in the Capitol and in the districts - is that you're a lunatic."

That doesn't surprise me.

Haymitch interrupts. "We can put a spin in this. People need to see that you've come around, and it's Peeta that helped you. Rebels need to know that they still have their mockingjay. The people in the Capitol need to know that they still have you two lovebirds."

The conversation has moved so quickly that my head is spinning. I lean on the table, and put my head in my hands. Beside me, Peeta shifts in his chair and places his hand on my thigh under the table. His touch is comforting, reassuring, and I slowly come back to reality. "We need to show people the other side of Coin. Hungry for power. So much so that she would have killed me in a heartbeat if I didn't support her."

Fulvia continues to take notes.

Plutarch nods slowly. "So, this is it, then? We're all in?"

Together, the three of us give our assent in nods and murmurs. Forms are passed around and signed and information packs handed to us.

"You'll need to be prepped, of course," Fulvia says, eyeing the both of us. "And full body polishes."

Of course - who in their right mind would want to watch a television show filled with ugly, scarred people?

"Make sure you read through the information packs carefully. We need to start finalising everything straight away!" Plutarch finishes excitedly.

As they both gather their things to head off, I pipe up. "Whatever happened to your idea for the singing show?"

Plutarch gives a jolly laugh. "Oh, that! Well, the president had other plans."

Something tells me that there is more to that than Plutarch lets on, but he brushes it over quickly. They're at the door now. "Oh, how exciting! It'll be like a Victory Tour!"

His words leave a sour taste in my mouth as they say their goodbyes and depart in a flourish. As Peeta closes the door, I hear him mutter under his breath, "A Victory Tour...who are they kidding?"

"Alright, show's over." Haymitch has joined us in the hallway. "Now that we know what's coming, you two need to get reacquainted. Everybody will be expecting our star-crossed lovers back in full form after you were torn apart. You need to be in love with each other more than ever. Got it?"

Usually this topic of conversation is directed at me, so I nod. But I don't want to give Peeta the impression that I'm in love with him only for the sake of appearances.

Because really, I do.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

We've signed up to this show, but the next few weeks are spent unsure of when this will all start. So we pass the time together at Haymitch's insistence. I hunt, trade and cook; Peeta bakes and paints; Haymitch drinks, disappearing for days on end only to resurface grumpy as hell. The weather cools and days become shorter, nights longer. Peeta still sleeps with the windows open despite a slight chill creeping in.

Greasy Sae doesn't come to take care of me so often now. I guess I've crossed back over that line, back to almost being normal, whatever that is. I put on more weight and my hair finally begins to grow over the scars on my scalp.

We put away the Tributes book for safe keeping, sealing the pages and placing it in my wooden box, which is now becoming quite full. When Peeta sees what's already inside, he grabs the spile and goes quiet. He stares at it intensely, turning it over in his hands.

"We used it in the second arena," I explain. "To get water from the trees."

Peeta nods and places it back in the box carefully. "Yes—yes, I remember. You couldn't figure out what to do with it and kept digging it into the dirt. But eventually, you realised what it was. We were all so thirsty and the water was warm." He turns and smiles at me, his eyes crinkling warmly. "I'm pretty sure that was real."

I nod, glad that I've finally seen some evidence of Peeta's memory returning. "It was."

Finally, I decide it's time to ask the question. I reach deep within myself, mentally pulling up the image of the mutt painting. The cold grey eyes and thick, glossy black fur flash before me. The fiery plumes that engulfed everything. "Peeta, I saw a painting in your study. It was me, as a mutt. In Twelve as it was being bombed. Why did you paint that?"

Peeta sits down on the edge of the bed, shifting his artificial leg until he's comfortable. I sit beside him.

"Dr Aurelius told me it would be good to bring these memories out in the open. Like the letters, he described it as siphoning out the fake images so that the real ones can return," Peeta says. "Do you think it's just rubbish, what he tells me to do?"

He pauses momentarily and continues before I can respond.

"Because when I have the nightmares, it's as if I'm back there. I can hear Johanna screaming. And then I realise I'm screaming too. And the venom—it was like being brought to the very edge of death time and time again. The pain, the images, the confusion..."

Peeta leans down, resting his elbows on his knees. He puts his head in his hands and rubs his eyes, as if trying to rub away the horrible vision. As if trying to erase it from his mind. "And _you_... I didn't know _what_ to make of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I never explained _why_ I tried to strangle you when I first saw you. Believe me I think about it every day. Or when I threw you and tried to crush your head in with the gun. I was out of my mind. I've tried to kill you so many times, yet you _still_ want to be with me. Don't you see?!" Peeta looks up at me, his fists clenched, his knuckles white. "I've been broken. Maybe I could snap just like that and kill you the very next second!"

I keep calm. I place my hand gently on his shoulder. "That wasn't you who did those things, Peeta, that was the Capitol. Remember what you said? _I don't want to be another piece in their games._ They tried to break you, but they didn't win," I say. "They didn't win."

I cup my hand to his cheek as the other brushes his blonde hair back from his forehead. His eyes are red and his thick lashes are damp. Gently, I trace my fingers across the burn scars that line the side of his face and neck. I'm not sure what to do next as I look into his blue eyes. Deep within them lies a pain that I sorely wish I could heal. But how?

He places his hand on the nape of my neck. It rests there for a short second before he pulls me forward forcefully and suddenly lips are on mine. We kiss. Not the polite, closed-lip type of kiss, not like before. This is a rough, wet, open-mouthed kiss where I can taste him on my tongue and feel him in my mouth and it leaves us both panting for air. This one isn't for show.

What I feel at that moment is stronger than before; an urge that makes me want to go on, to explore and discover. But he pulls away, leaving me gasping, and there is an awkward silence. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

After a while, he pauses. "Don't you miss Gale?"

I look up at him. Is this really what has been weighing on his mind? "If you mean, when I hunt, then yes, a little. But in general? No. It's more of a relief."

"I saw him on television. A squad leader now in District Two," Peeta says.

I don't know why we're talking about him.

"Good for him," I reply. I can tell that he's noticed the tone of resentment in my voice as I busy myself with rearranging my precious possessions in the box and closing it tightly. He's quiet while I put it back in my closet, safe and sound. But when he speaks again, it's only to punch another hole in my heart. "Have you spoken to your mother?"

There's a pang in my chest when he asks that and I stop. Since I went on my downward spiral, I hadn't spoken to her, or not for very long. She called, but I mostly kept the conversation short. I didn't want to reveal too much about the extent of my depression and be the one to drag her back here. I knew it would be too painful for her.

"No," I say, turning around. "Not lately. I should probably call to tell her the good news."

"I was just about to suggest that," he says.

I snort as I head into the study. When my mother picks up, she's enthusiastic to say the least. I ask her about the hospital. It was completed a couple of weeks ago and now she's training nurses. She asks me what I've eaten for the day. A bowl of Greasy Sae's soup and some bread rolls. Not a whole lot. I promise her I'll go hunting tomorrow and get some meat into me. Besides, I'm sure Hazelle wants some meat for her kids as well. My mother says she has to head back to the hospital for another training session.

She can't wait to see me on television.

The phone goes silent and I'm left staring at the wall. It's an empty expanse of white. As I stare at it, my eyes confuse the distance between the wall and me. I feel dizzy; it's as if I've floated up from my body and am looking down on it, but at the same time I can feel the emotions going through me. That strange empty feeling in my chest has returned, that hole, the black empty pit of nothingness. The depression, the sadness. And the return of this blackness makes me furious. I've come so far. It makes me want to take something and throw it against the wall, or overturn the desk, or take the chair and smash it through the window. But my hands are shaking too much and I can't grasp on to anything. My breaths shorten and I glance wildly around the room in panic, searching for something to hold on to.

I stagger to the bathroom, clinging on to the wall for support. I try to calm the shaking by running my hands under the hot water tap, but it's not enough. I need the soap, I need the scour...I need...I don't even know anymore. I don't even know why simply talking to my mother has caused this reaction, has caused me to cross over that line again, back to that craziness.

The scrubbing starts to hurt. My hands are scratched and the water runs pink, but it's not enough. It feels like it'll never be enough. I will never be able to clean away the guilt no matter how long or how hard I scrub. As I continue to wash, a cry escapes my throat. Why am I being like this? Didn't they call me the girl on fire? They said I had spirit. Where's it gone?

That familiar, painful lump in my throat has returned and hot wet tears run down my face. I hear the door open and Peeta's footsteps as he enters the room. I see the sombre reflection of his face in the mirror. His hand reaches out from behind me and turns off the tap. Without a word, he gently takes my hands, covering them with a towel and begins to pat them dry gently.

My sobbing stops, but the tears still course down my cheeks and my nose is running. He turns my hands over, inspecting them and takes a jar of balm, one of my mother's concoctions, and begins massaging it into my raw hands, all over my palms and fingers. It's soothing, as if rubbing away at the edges of that black emptiness inside me. He takes the towel and wipes the wetness from my face and draws me into his arms, warm and safe.

He doesn't say a word. Nothing like, _"Everything will be okay," _or, _"Don't worry."_ He knows I don't want to hear it. He knows that these won't have any meaning behind them. Because those types of sentiments aren't real.

Instead, he leads me downstairs and prepares supper. We finish off the stew. I'm nauseated by the smell, but I force it down. I don't retch, so at least that's something. And then we sleep. Nothing more.

The next morning, Peeta asks me to take him hunting again and to teach him to use a bow. He urges me on, despite the doubtful expression on my face, and finally I agree. My hands are dry and cracked and it's difficult to get dressed, but I finally make it, slinging my hunting satchel over my shoulder. Hand-in-hand, we set off towards the meadow, through the fence and into the woods.

The walk is slower than usual, on account of Peeta's leg, but it doesn't matter. Once through the fence, I begin to feel better, taking deep breaths of the fresh, cool air, relishing the scent of trees and earth. Around me, the woods are alive with green leaves and birds that flit from branch to branch, calling out in sing-song tones. I lead him to the hollow tree trunk and hand him one of my bows, taking my own favourite bow and a quiver of arrows. We head to the rock shelf where we put our things and rest for a little while. It's there that I first get him to practise shooting.

"Place your feet apart, directly beneath your shoulders. Stand sideways," I instruct.

He shifts his foot a awkwardly. The target is a tree trunk standing about ten metres away. Easy enough.

"Load the arrow."

He readies the bow and lines up the arrow. I can see the muscles in his arms rippling under his t-shirt as he pulls it back. He has that look in his eyes when he's focused and in his own little world, like when he's drawing or baking. I'm almost too caught up staring at him before I only just remember to focus. "When you're ready, fire."

The arrow misses completely.

"It's okay, the first one always misses with a new bow because you need to get a feel for the tension. You'll get the hang of it," I say.

He tries a few more times. I correct the positioning of his elbows a little and tell him to relax. He's standing too straight, too tensed up in his shoulders. The release of the arrow is making his muscles jerk, causing him to miss most of the time.

"You're so good at this," he says.

I shrug. "I've had years of practise, and a really good teacher."

After a few more tries, we go and collect the arrows.

"Shall we hunt, now?" I suggest, even though I know quite well that the noise he makes will scare away any chances of bagging anything.

Peeta shakes his head. "There's a few blackberry bushes. I'm gonna scrounge around a little. We'd probably end up starving, considering the noise I make."

I nod. We agree to meet back at the rock shelf in two hours and I set off. I'm in the mood for an easy, meaty catch so I head to the lake where I know there'll be plenty of water fowl. I don't want to take Peeta there, not yet. It's the place that only my father and I shared and I want to keep it that way, for now.

I catch three on the banks of the lake. There's nothing challenging about shooting water fowl. They don't expect it, and in less than a second, they're dead. Silently, I thank them for giving me their life so that I can get stronger, keep living.

When I get back to the rock, Peeta's gathered quite the collection of blackberries, which he's placed in a cloth bag that sits atop the shelf. He's also found the wild strawberry patch and comments that it was all overgrown and covered in netting.

"Oh, Gale and I put that up to stop animals from getting at them," I explain.

Peeta goes quiet. "Oh, I see. Nifty."

"Well, it worked," I indicate to his pile. "What are you going to do with all that?"

"I'll bake them into small cakes. The rest I'll preserve and give them around town, along with the bread."

I'd forgotten. Since he came back, he spent most of his time baking for the families that had trickled in to the district to restart their lives. He singlehandedly ensured that these families, especially those with young children, were kept fed. And what had I been doing all that time? Selfishly wallowing in my own depression.

We gather our things and make our way back, picking dandelion leaves and digging up wild onions for our greens. When we arrive at my place, I scald the birds, pluck them and clean them. I stuff the insides with wild onions and set them to roast while Peeta puts aside some of the berries for his cakes. The rest he puts into a pot with sugar, which he sets to boil. It perfumes the air with their sweet, berry scent. He then makes a batch of a dozen small blackberry cakes and lets them cool.

We bring the small feast to Haymitch's and together, we eat roasted water fowl with dandelion greens and finish off the blackberry cakes for dessert. Peeta and Haymitch argue about politics. I have half a glass of liquor, but even then it's too much and I don't want to overdo it like the first time.

When night falls and Peeta and I are walking back to his house, I realise that the meal was the first time I ate without thinking. I didn't feel nauseated. I didn't retch. I just ate. Maybe it was the act itself, of putting the meal together. From catching the birds, to picking the greens, and the process of preparing the meal. It was like therapy, a window back to the old times, before the rebellion. I grasp Peeta's hand in mine as we get to his house. Maybe that's it, that's what I need to do.

Upstairs, I kick my shoes off and crawl into bed. Peeta gets in beside me as I tell him my theory.

"Isn't that what Dr Aurelius told you to do?" He asks. "Keep up with the activities that you used to do before the Games?"

I bite my lip, resting my head on the pillow. "I'm not sure. All he did was sleep during our sessions and he stopped calling me a while ago."

"Or you never pick up the phone."

"I pick up when you call."

"That's because you know it's me."

That's true. I can see his number on the display of the telephone.

"Promise me you'll call him tomorrow," Peeta urges gently. I try think of ways to get around this, but come up with nothing. Finally, I relent.

So the next morning, I call him. Dr Aurelius's raspy voice sounds through the earpiece, asking me how I've been doing. I don't beat around the bush and answer honestly. I was in a bad way, but something changed within me and I feel that I'm getting better now, less depressive. He encourages me to keep with the activities—hunting, cooking, going to the market, socialising. I tell him I'll try my best. He wants to arrange a meeting when I get to the Capitol for a face-to-face session and we leave it at that.

Over the next few weeks, Peeta and I grow closer together. Not as close as before, but it's an improvement from the awkward exchanges, shifting eyes and periods of silence. He's still cold at times, and there are moments when I catch him staring into the distance as his eyes become clouded. That familiar tortured look passes over his face for a few seconds. His muscles tense and his hands clench into fists to the point where his knuckles become white. And then it suddenly clears and he's back to normal. I keep my distance during those moments.

My skin's looking better and I feel myself becoming stronger every day and filling out my clothes.

The autumn leaves begin to fall, covering the ground with a crispy brown, orange and yellow coating. It makes hunting that little bit harder, but I like the challenge. And when it rains, the ground becomes soft and I tread through the forest like a lynx, quiet and deadly. The animals are unaware of the danger that lurks in the woods when I hunt.

One day, I finally shoot a rabbit. It was sitting in a patch of warm sunlight, almost camouflaged from view. I moved as slowly as possible to get a good shot. No quick moves, otherwise the rabbit would have disappeared in a flash. A few deep breaths - one, two, and on the third exhale, I let my arrow fly.

When I go to collect it's still-warm body, I see the arrow has pierced it right through the left eye. A trickle of blood runs down its fur as I pull the arrow out and wipe it clean. Greasy Sae will be pleased.

I shove the rabbit into my bag, along with a few pigeons that I've also managed to score that afternoon. I'll give these to Hazelle for the kids. Rejuvenated with my winnings, I head back into town and straight for Greasy Sae's new stall.

I've asked her not to come by anymore; I've told her that I'll be okay and she understood. Right after that, she claimed a space in the town square and restarted her business. As I approach the stall, I pull the rabbit out of my pack and lay it triumphantly on the bench.

"Beautiful! Right through the eye to boot!" Greasy Sae is all smiles, showing her sparse teeth and wrinkling her leathery skin as I take a seat at the stool across from her. She winks at me and I find myself smiling too.

Thom pulls up a stool beside me. "Nice one, Kat! You shoot me one of those?"

I shrug. "What've you got in return?"

Thom pats down his pockets and he deflates like a flat balloon. "Dang it, I got nothing."

"Well then, stop taking up my space so that real customers can eat!" Greasy Sae interjects, but it's a good natured taunt. She puts a bowl of stewed white beans and salted pork in front of me and I dig in.

"At least Greasy Sae feeds me in exchange. What would you do?" I ask, my mouth half chewing on a chunk of tender chicken.

Thom shrugs and rests his elbow on the bench. Then he pulls a strange move—he lowers his eyelids and winks seductively at me, the corner of his mouth curved in a cheeky grin. "We can go and find out."

I almost spit out half-chewed beans in his face as I burst out laughing. "Yeah, I don't think that's gonna happen."

Thom's a live one. I didn't know him that well before, but we've now become good friends. In his mid-twenties, he's not yet married and works to support his younger brother and sister. His parents both died in the bombing.

"Not if I can help it," Peeta's voice sounds beside me and I turn around. I hadn't heard him approaching. His voice sounds friendly enough, but there's a cold hint in his tone that's made it slightly awkward and his eyes, steely blue, dart between the two of us.

"Well, this must be one of your real customers," Thom says to Greasy Sae as he gets off the stool. "You keep up the good work with her Peeta, or I might have to take over."

"That won't be necessary," Peeta replies sharply as he takes Thom's place beside me. Another situation that throws this Peeta and my old Peeta in sharp relief.

"Lookin' good, Kat. See you around." Thom taps my shoulder as he heads off in the direction of his home near the Mayor's old house.

Peeta places a brown paper bag in front of Greasy Sae. "For you and Juniper."

"It _must_ be my birthday," she responds, putting her nose in the bag and breathing in the scent of the freshly baked bread. I push my plate across to Peeta. It's a big serving and my stomach is already bulging.

"You don't like him," I ask. Actually, it's more of a statement than a question.

"Well, I don't hate him," Peeta says as he finishes off my dinner. "I just don't like the way he looks at you. Like..."

"Like what?"

I glance at Greasy Sae, but she's pretending to wipe down her bench, feigning sudden deafness at the sudden awkward turn of conversation.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Thom's a friend. About one of the only other friends I have. You don't know him like I do," I counter.

"I'll take your word for it," Peeta says as he scrapes the plate. "Thanks, Greasy Sae."

"Thank _you_, you know June loves your rolls," she replies, closing off her stove and packing her things on to her trolley. We help her with her pots and dishes and she urges us to come by tomorrow for some rabbit.

"It's called Fillet Mignon," she says proudly. "I found the recipe in a very old book."

"I can't wait," I tell her.

The weight in my hunting bag reminds me that I've still got to give the pigeons to Hazelle. After dropping them off, we walk back to the Victor's Village hand in hand. The sun is setting slowly on the horizon. It layers the sky with the soft orange that Peeta likes, and deep purple and dark blue.

I feel that finally, now, I can say that I've completely crossed that line and have come far. Sure, there've been moments that are tough, but in my last call with Dr Aurelius, he's suggested something interesting.

When I start to fall into that familiar feeling of emptiness, that despair and darkness, I just need to remember one thing. I need to remember something good. It doesn't have to be a big thing or anything world-changing. Just something small. And today, from that moment I caught the rabbit, I knew it would be a good day.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"There's a big day ahead of us!"

Effie claps her hands in the air, as if the noise will make me double in speed as I pull a small pack of my few clothes together. It's early morning and I'm still half asleep. Even now, I'm not even sure what I've put in there, but I manage to remember my mockingjay pin and secure it to my shirt. I'm surprised that she hasn't said her usual, "big, big, BIG day", but I'm not about to complain.

Outside, a car is waiting to take us to the train station and from there we'll board a train to the Capitol to commence preparation for the show. Peeta and Haymitch are already waiting as I lock up the house.

I would have hugged Effie when I saw her, but the first thing that she'd said when she took one look at both Peeta and I was that we'd need to get into prep. ASAP. Surprise, surprise. Nice to see you too, Effie, and your violent pink beehive of hair looks great too.

I probably shouldn't be too harsh on her. Who knows what she went through as we were planning the invasion and I was locked up on trial.

Effie's banging on about the schedule for today as the car doors close and we head off. First prep, which will take most of the morning, and then a photo shoot so that the studio team can start preproduction. After that, a session with Dr Aurelius, perhaps to assess if we may have a nervous breakdown during filming. It probably doesn't matter if we do or not. If we do, it would just make for better television. And then she mutters something about her therapist who is apparently the top psychologist in the Capitol.

I'm not sure if I heard correctly. "Wait, you always seem so together, Effie. I can't imagine what you had to go through to see a therapist."

I'm laying it on a bit thickly, but she seems to get choked up. "Oh, you're a dear, Katniss!"

After that she goes silent, sniffing every once in a while, her hand still at her throat and her fingers dabbing at the corners of her eyes. Next to her, Haymitch rolls his eyes and takes a pull from his liquor flask. Just watching him do that makes me sick. It's hardly six in the morning and he's already started drinking. It must be Effie's presence.

On the train, a breakfast spread has been laid out for us as we pull out of the station. We eat our fill - there's the lamb stew with dried plums - but I don't touch it. I eat some hot grains with bacon, drink orange juice and after that some hot chocolate.

Haymitch goes to his carriage to lie down. Peeta and I retire to ours for a nap, leaving Effie at the table, pencilling in times and notes into her schedule book.

I close the door tightly in our carriage before turning around.

"You're both going to need prep, ASAP!" I imitate Effie in her affected Capitol accent as I collapse on the bed.

"You don't look so bad," Peeta comments.

"This old face? I'm sure the Capitol audience will love it," I say, closing my eyes. Peeta says something in return but before I know it, I've drifted into sleep.

.

When I awake, I'm lying stark naked in a bathtub of liquid. Somehow, it doesn't surprise me to be waking up here. They must have put something in our food, knocked us out for a good few hours. Maybe thought we would protest to being made up again. A full body polish, they call it. I lift up my left hand and the smooth skin that I see on my wrist confirms my suspicions.

This should make me angry, but I'm not. I feel a sense of relief. It's like erasing the scars of the past. Sure, the scar had meaning and for many, it represented me as the mockingjay. It was part of me. But it was like I was only playing along; I was playing the game. I fought when required and did what was needed. That stage is now over and this is the next level. And I need to be ready – I need a new game face.

I look over and see a head of familiar, bright orange curls. I blink and take a second look. "Flavius?"

His head whips around and a smile bursts across his face. Tears pop into his eyes and the next second, he's hugging me, even though I'm wet and naked. "Oh, Katniss! You're awake!"

"He cried when he saw you," Venia chimes. I hadn't seen her on the other side of the room, mixing different colours of nail polish on a palette. It reminds me of Peeta's paint palette in his study. "You wouldn't have liked it. So did _this_ one."

Octavia comes out from behind the screen, her arms filled with swathes of clothing. She's buxom as ever. Her skin is now dyed a pale yellow and her hair falls about her shoulders in wavy, purple curls.

Out of the three of them, Venia looks the most normal. Still stick thin, she's kept her hair brown with added highlights of auburn, gold, and honey. Her tattoos shine golden on her pale skin and her eyelids are tinted with gold liner as well. I recognise the look. I like it on her.

It's crazy, but I'm actually happy to see them. As they wash me off and rub lotion on to my skin, they chatter on about what's happened since we last saw each other. They almost absolutely died at the verdict of my trial, and celebrated that night with a few other Capitol rebels. Apparently, it was a wild party. Flavius is gushing about Peeta, saying that he saw him earlier and he was absolutely gorgeous and he's filled out well. I swear there's a blush in his cheeks as he goes on.

When they're done, I examine myself in the mirror. The scars on my face and neck have completely disappeared and my skin smooth as silk and an even olive tone, not ridged and patchy like before.

My hands fly to my hair. It falls in silky, dark waves around my shoulders and completely covers the scarring on my scalp. It's like there's a younger, more innocent me looking back in the mirror. I feel tears pricking my eyes. How stupid! What am I crying for?

Before I can stop, the tears gush forth.

"Oh darling, don't cry! It's absolutely nothing," Venia comes up behind me with a robe and fastens it around my waist. She gives me a brief hug.

"She's coming, she's coming!" Octavia whispers sharply, dabbing away at my tears. I sniff, pulling myself together and just as I wonder who it could be, the door opens and Tigris walks in to the room.

Her leopard spots and long whiskers are unmistakeable. She's draped in a long, woollen dress that clings to her stick-thin body with a black fur wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair has been died black and cut short and blunt. She has a commanding, intimidating air about her such that my prep team shrink away to the background without a word.

"I'm sorry," I say as I wipe the tears away. "It's foolish of me to cry like this."

Tigris waves her hand in dismissal. Her nails are an inch long, painted black and filed to a fine point. "Don't be silly. The audience will love it."

She waves Flavius over. "The hair. No braid. Short like this," she indicates to some area around my shoulder. "Some curls. Frame the face."

Flavius nods seriously, absorbing every word.

She turns to me, opens my robe and pulls it off. I should feel violated, but I'm so used to this that it doesn't matter. She calls Venia over with a wave of her hand, indicating to my fingernails. "Nude pink. Nothing fancy."

Venia nods and immediately heads to her station to mix colours.

This leaves Octavia standing nervously behind her, waiting for instruction. Tigris takes her time, slowly stalking circles around me, a hunter with its prey. "They've seen the survivor, the innocent girl, the girl in love, the fighter, the rebel. That is behind you now. Coin and Snow pushed you almost to the brink of insanity. Now you are back."

She speaks in a halting manner with short, sharp sentences. I like it. No waffle, just straight to the point.

She folds her arms over her chest and gives me one last once-over. Waving me away, she pulls Octavia to the side and they disappear behind the screen to go through my wardrobe.

I pull my robe back on as Flavius guides me to a chair and begins to cut my hair. Venia takes my hand and starts on my nails. From the corner of my eye, I can see the dark clumps of hair falling to the floor. The weight on my head begins to feel lighter. I should feel sad, like I've lost something, but there's an inexplicable lift in my spirits. It's as if a part of me is being cut away. The braid is no longer. This is a new beginning. Maybe it's just what I need.

Behind the screen, Tigris is muttering instructions in her stop-start kind of way. There's talk of colours, patterns, fabrics, cuts. Pants or skirts, jackets or no jackets. They fuss over my wardrobe to the very last thread.

After about an hour, I'm tired from sitting down for so long and my legs have fallen asleep.

When Octavia, Flavius and Venia stand back and announce they're done, Tigris stalks up behind me and swings me around. She takes the makeup palette and adjusts my eyes and lips. She fingers my belt, and then frowns and pulls it off altogether. Then she takes something from the pocket of her dress and fixes it to my left shoulder.

There's a short knock on the door and Effie ushers her way through. "Twelve o'clock, it's time-!" She stops mid-way and gasps. "Oh, Tigris, you are amazing!"

My prep team burst out in a sudden avalanche of praise and agreement. Tigris shrugs and waves her long, pointy fingers in dismissal. "It's nothing."

At that, she stalks out of the room, leaving us gaping after her.

Effie stands back and looks at me, her hands on her hips. She's shaking her head in wonderment. "It took a _lot _of convincing to get her on board, but it was worth it. Have a look."

My prep team's enthusiasm is palpable as I turn to the mirror. My heart skips a beat. I almost don't recognise myself. My hair falls in soft, layered curls to my shoulders, parted to the side. My olive-toned skin is glowing and my eyes are heavily lined at the top and flick out and up at the sides. My lips are a glossy nude pink. My dress is fitted tightly at the top, the neck line curved and finishing just at the shoulders. The bodice is a pattern of green leaves and orange-coloured flowers. From my waist, the peach-coloured skirt flows to just below my knees. My nude patent heels are low, modest.

My hand flies to my left shoulder, to the thing that Tigris had placed on me just before she left. My mockingjay pendant.

"Gorgeous," Flavius chimes and Venia and Octavia echo in agreement. Octavia places a green knit cardigan over my shoulders and gives me a little squeeze.

"Thank you, team!" Effie says as she ushers me out and glances at her schedule. "Okay, photo shoot, quick lunch, and then to the hotel for Dr Aurelius's session."

I'd almost forgotten about that. I'm not sure what to expect this time around. The last time we had a face-to-face session, Dr Aurelius fell asleep and I couldn't be bothered.

As we stop in the thick-carpeted hallway, I look around, trying to gauge where I am. This building is unfamiliar, so I'm guessing it's definitely not the training centre. Effie leads me to the elevator and pushes the button.

"We're at the studio," she contributes as she catches me glancing through the window. "Don't worry, we have a much nicer place for you to stay while we're here – far better than the old training centre!"

That wasn't what I was worried about, but she answered my question. We get into the elevator and head up. It opens into a hall with parquet floors and tall ceilings with a huge, intricate crystal chandelier hanging down from the centre. The crevices of the ceiling are carved in detailed patterns painted in gold and on the ceiling itself is an alfresco depicting a huge feast being had by angels in the clouds.

I frown. The faces of the angels are familiar. And then it hits me. They're fallen tributes. The beautiful alfresco immediately becomes terrible and I force my gaze away to stop the nausea from rising.

Natural, bright light fills the room via huge glass windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. We're high above the city - I can see the skyline from here -and the roofs of the buildings are only just visible through the light haze of cloud. On the far side of the room, a white sheet hangs. A photographer and a group of assistants are fussing over the tall lights and cameras.

Sitting on a small couch off to the side is Haymitch and Peeta. Haymitch is slumped against the back of the couch, lazily throwing his flask in the air and catching it. I'm guessing it's long been empty. I glance over at Peeta. As I come closer, I can see that the burn scars that covered the right side of his face have disappeared too. He lifts his head up to look at me and his mouth falls open. "You look beautiful."

I see Haymitch roll his eyes next to him.

"Tell that to my prep team," I say. But inside, I'm pleased.

He moves to kiss me on the cheek when there's a sudden shriek and the photographer rushes up and pulls him away. "_Not_ the face!"

Peeta gives me a guilty look and I try to keep from laughing.

I give him another once-over, thinking about Flavius's comments. He _is_ handsome. His blonde hair has been cropped short and parted to the side and he's dressed in a light grey vest and a white collared shirt with a peach-coloured tie. I look over at Haymitch, who's wearing a black velvet blazer and black trousers. I'm guessing the theme here. The peach is close to Peeta's favourite colour. Green is my favourite colour. And black, I'm guessing, represents the coal from District Twelve. Or Haymitch's preferred colour, if he had any.

We spend the next hour being photographed. First by ourselves, then the three of us together in different orders. The assistants carry the loveseat over and Peeta and I are photographed sitting closely together. Looking at the camera. Looking at each other. Looking in the distance, or him looking at one point in the distance and me looking somewhere else. His arm over me. My legs tucked up onto the seat, leaning against him. We're photographed together in every position they can think of.

Haymitch is directed to come and stand behind us. First leaning over with his hands resting on the back of the couch and then standing with his arms across his chest. We're told to smile, smile more, then look serious, or look into each other's eyes with a serious look, and then with a happy look.

It's tedious and annoying.

After another hour it's over and we're all relieved. My stomach has been grumbling for the last half of the session. The photographer and his team start to pack up their equipment and Effie makes a reappearance and herds us to a smaller room to the side. A dining table stands in the centre with a food-laden buffet table set up in the corner. And next to it, an Avox stands at attention.

I frown as I look at him. His grey eyes, almost like mine, flicker to me and away in panic. I don't understand why Avoxes are still being used this way. Things should have changed after everything that happened! I take a deep breath and walk up to him.

"We can serve ourselves. Is that okay?" I ask. The Avox relaxes, his eyes glancing at the mockingjay pin on my shoulder. He nods.

Haymitch helps himself to the wine before anything else. We fill our plates. I give in to the lamb stew, which sits in a silver serving bowl kept warm over a flame, and ladle it over a generous serving of white rice. It's as delicious as I remember.

Effie picks at some salad and consults her schedule. "After this, we head to the hotel. The Grand Capitol, newly refurbished, I hear it's _fabulous_. So much better than the Renaissance Hotel. Dr Aurelius will meet you in your suite at three. He's told me that he would like to see you both together, Peeta and Katniss. Haymitch, yours is at six. I'd advise you to lay off the booze for now."

Peeta and I glance at each other, wondering what the doctor's got in store for us. Haymitch is silent and sullenly picking at a savoury muffin. He's drained his first glass of wine and the Avox moves to refill it, but Haymitch covers the glass with his hand. Haymitch refusing alcohol? That's a first.

I wonder what the doctor's got to say to him.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Once we're finished, Effie ushers us outside into a waiting car with blackened windows, but I'm surprised to find that we're under heavy guard of armed soldiers in full fatigues and head and body armour, their guns out.

We get in and head off to the hotel. The soldiers follow in military vehicles, one in front and one behind. I'm not sure how necessary all this protection is as we wind through the streets of the Capitol, a barren city of concrete, asphalt and glass. It's cold and remote, far removed from the trees and dirt that I'm used to in Twelve. People walk the streets, their skin tinted in all shades of colours, tattooed with animal prints or intricate patterns and their hair dyed unnaturally bright. Cars streak by beside us, their occupants unseen behind the black windows.

When we finally arrive, we pass through gigantic wrought-iron gates, which are promptly closed behind us as we head up a long gravel driveway. The hotel is like an enormous mansion, not as big as the President's mansion, but equally as decadent, sitting among lush, green manicured lawns. But the car doesn't stop at the front entrance. We're driven around the mansion and to the rear where, under a cover of trees, we roll to a stop. Again, we're under heavy soldier guard as we exit the car.

I glance at Peeta, who doesn't seem to want to meet my eye. Neither does Haymitch. The soldiers stand looking outward, their faces emotionless. I don't know what they're looking for or anticipating. Perhaps our security is of the utmost importance for the sake of this campaign.

We enter through a nondescript door which leads to a small circular foyer where a lone elevator awaits at the opposite end. Effie's made no comment about all of this heavy security and maintaining her stiff demeanour, pushes the elevator button. We pile in and head straight to the top where the elevator opens into yet another circular foyer with marbled tiles. There is a centre table of polished wood, mahogany by the looks of it, sitting on a plush, intricately patterned rug. A large glass vase full of oriental lilies sits on the table and above that hangs a crystal chandelier, glowing yellow in the windowless space. The hallway leads to only two other doors, one to the left and another to the right of the table. From what I can see, this is the only elevator that leads to this floor.

Effie opens the left door by sliding a card into the slot above the handle and hands Haymitch the card. Without another word, he walks through and slams it shut behind him. Effie huffs. "You're welcome!"

Effie makes for the door to the right, which I'm guessing leads to our suite. Before she swipes the card through, she turns to us and clears her throat. "I trust you are both responsible young adults, but nevertheless, I've taken it upon myself to ensure that your suite has two _separate_ rooms."

There's no missing the hint in her voice as we both nod. She heads back to the elevator, mentioning that she will return at eight for the dinner party, which is to be held downstairs in the ballroom.

We enter our suite and close the door behind us. It's huge - even bigger than our houses in the Victor's Village. The entrance hall is grand, with polished wooden floors and another round mahogany table, slightly smaller than the one in the foyer. A large bowl of fruit and a tall vase of flowers, more lilies, stands at the centre of the table, along with a tray full of colourful sweets and chocolates.

We wander across the hall. How different this is to our district, even to the houses in the Victor's Village which are luxurious by comparison to the wooden shacks of the Seam. Peeta is silent as he observes every detail with a strange, grave look on his face. Opposite the entrance are double doors that slide open into a living space. There's a huge flat screen television that fills up the expanse of the far wall. Set back a few metres away are plush velvet blue couches. To the side is a small bar, which is empty of any bottles of alcohol, I assume because we're still underage. The windows span from floor to ceiling, with lace curtains and thick, heavy velvet drapes pinned to the side. They look out to the manicured lawns of the hotel.

Further back, there's another set of sliding doors that leads to a dining room with a tall ceiling and a sharp, glass light feature that hangs low. The walls are brushed a soft grey-blue and framed with more polished wood. Through the dining room to the left, there's a fully equipped kitchen with the biggest oven and stove that I've ever seen. Peeta's quiet as he runs his hands across the stainless steel, the knobs, the glass window that looks into the oven. He opens it, inspects the interior, and closes it.

Back in the living room, Peeta sinks into one of the couches, his arms crossed, deep in thought. "It's too much, all of this. It doesn't feel right."

"You were right about one thing," I say, sitting next to him. "Sure, the Government's changed, but we've yet to see any real change here, aren't we? Like with the Avox at lunch."

Peeta shakes his head. "Old habits die hard. That's why we agreed to do this, right?"

I nod. I kick off my shoes and tuck my feet under my legs, leaning up against Peeta's shoulder. He puts his arm around me.

It's completely silent. There are no other sounds of neighbours or street noise coming in through the windows. There's no sounds of the birds, or the wind through the trees or anything that I'm used to. I nestle my head into the crook of his neck, savouring the warmth there. Peeta leans his head back and closes his eyes. After a few minutes, I feel his chest begin to rise and fall against me with deep, even breaths. He's fallen asleep.

It's been a long day. After a while, I let my eyes close and doze off.

.

Dr Aurelius arrives five minutes before three o'clock. We're ready before then, of course, with Effie having the forethought to schedule a wake-up call for us.

He shuffles tiredly through the door, a gait of someone who's lived and seen enough. A whiff of white hair graces the top of his head and his eyes are framed with thick black glasses. He comes in with a suitcase on wheels and after greeting both of us and exchanging some small talk, heads to the living area. Out of his case, he takes out a tripod and camera, which Peeta helps set up. Once done, Dr Aurelius instructs Peeta to sit on the couch in a comfortable position, which he does without question.

Peeta swings his legs up and rests them length-ways, his back propped up against a cushion. Dr Aurelius nods and adjusts the camera, looking through the eye piece. This is strange to say the least, because I haven't had a session with Dr Aurelius where he wasn't dozing off.

"The next two hours will represent the culmination of three months of research and documenting. If I'm any good, the results will be an improvement, to say the least—for the both of you," Dr Aurelius says in his raspy, even-toned voice. "Peeta, I'll speak to you first. Katniss, if you can kindly come with me."

He accompanies me to the first bedroom, his hand on the small of my back. Behind the dresser, Dr Aurelius presses a button against the wall, and another large flat screen slides up directly opposite the bed. He takes a small, black device from his pocket and connects it to the television. When he turns it on, the image that comes up on screen is that of the living room. I can see Peeta lying patiently on the couch, his hands folded over his chest.

He speaks to me quietly. "You will stay here and view Peeta's session. During this time, please do not make any noise or interrupt the session. Doing so may have grave consequences on his mental state."

I nod.

"Take these."

He hands me an earpiece, I'm guessing so that I can listen in to what will be said during the session. "Remember, please keep quiet until I call."

He leaves the room. I use the bathroom for good measure, as I don't know how long this session is going to last. When I'm done, I put the earpiece in and settle into the bed, my eyes glued to the television screen.

Peeta's eyes are closed. Dr Aurelius has pulled up a chair beside him, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, a notebook and pen at his hands. He's scribbling something and when he's done, puts his pen down and speaks.

"Now, Peeta, I want you to keep your eyes closed and take a deep breath. Concentrate on this one thing for me. As you breathe in, listen to the air filling your lungs, and when you breathe out, listen to the air leaving your lungs." His voice is calm and monotone, his words slow and rhythmic. It's soothing, the manner in which he speaks. As I listen, I find myself breathing in tune to Peeta on screen. "Take a few more breaths, Peeta. Relax and keep your mind open."

There is a minute of silence, where the only thing I can see is the rise and fall of Peeta's chest.

"Now when I count to three and click my fingers, I want you to leave your body. I want you, the present Peeta, to leave your body and wait for me. I want to speak to eleven-year old Peeta, if he's there. So when I click my fingers, I want eleven-year old Peeta to come forth. Is that okay?"

Peeta murmurs drowsily in assent. His face is calm and unhindered, peaceful. Dr Aurelius counts to three and then clicks his fingers sharply. For a moment, nothing happens and I'm afraid it hasn't worked, that Dr Aurelius's research has culminated to nothing. But shortly after, Peeta opens his eyes.

I'm struck by the look there, like something deep within him has suddenly changed. I sit up and lean closer to the screen. There is an innocence there that wasn't present only a few minutes ago. He blinks, looking at his surroundings and then spots Dr Aurelius sitting across from him. "Who are you?"

The voice is curious and childlike. As if he'd been taught never to speak to strangers and suddenly found himself in this unfamiliar room with a strange man.

On the screen, Dr Aurelius smiles patiently. "Hello, Peeta. My name is Aurelius. I'm a doctor and I'm here to help you."

"Am I sick? Where's Mrs Everdeen? She's the one who helps the sick people in our district," Peeta says. My heart skips a beat when he mentions my mother. I crawl to the edge of the bed to get closer to the television.

"Mrs Everdeen's asked me to see you instead." Dr Aurelius responds smoothly. "There are a few questions I'd like to ask you, and you must promise to answer truthfully. Is that okay?"

Eleven-year old Peeta hesitates, unsure of whether to trust this strange man from the Capitol. After thinking carefully, he nods.

"Thank you, Peeta." Dr Aurelius replies. "I'd first like to ask you about someone in your school. Mrs Everdeen's daughter, Katniss. Do you know her?"

Peeta's cheeks blush unmistakeably crimson red. "Yes, sir, I know her."

"Tell me, Peeta, about the first time you saw her."

"I don't understand how this will help me get better. What's wrong with me?" Peeta asks, perhaps trying to dodge the question.

The doctor keeps his voice friendly and calm. "Please trust me when I say that it will help you a great deal. Now back to Katniss. Can you recount how you met her?"

Peeta frowns, still unsure of what to make of this situation. "Okay. If you ask. The first time I saw her was at the bakery. Her father came in to tr - I mean, buy - some bread."

He covered himself quickly there. The eleven-year old Peeta still thinks it's illegal to trade game that's been caught outside of the district zone. I can see where his smooth-talking got started. He continues. "She was standing next to her father. That was all. She had on a red plaid dress because it nearly summer."

I remember that dress. It was my birthday. My father had traded it for two rabbits at the market. My mother wanted to give it a good wash before I wore it, so it was a few days before he finally saw me in it and said I was beautiful. Eventually, it was handed down to Prim and when she became too big, was turned in to washing rags.

"What made you remember the dress?" Dr Aurelius asks. It's a funny, almost boring question, but Peeta's voice softens when he answers.

"Because she was pretty in it."

Dr Aurelius writes this down on his notepad. He uncrosses his legs and then crosses them the other way. "Tell me what else you know about Katniss."

Peeta nods. "We're in the same class, but I don't think she really likes having friends. I know that she was sad for a long time. There was an explosion at the mines a not long ago. A lot of workers died. Her father was one of them. A few other kids at school lost their dads, too. I feel bad for her. I want to talk to her and everything but I'm too... I don't know. Scared." He responds matter-of-factly in his grown up yet child-like tone. "I think it's pretty tough for her. I mean, it's tough for everyone in the district, but for her it's extra tough."

"Why do you say that?"

"I think her mother's still too sad, after her father died I mean. She's so sad she can't do anything. Katniss has to. She has to take care of her little sister _and_ her mother. She's so strong, Katniss."

"Tell me, Peeta, can you recall anything about you giving her bread?"

The memory flashes before my eyes. It was seven years ago now, yet the cold soaking rain and the harsh wind blow right through me. My stomach is in painful knots, tied up in hunger, but all I can think about is giving Prim food. Tiny, scrawny, sick little Prim. I feel hot tears begin to pool in my eyes and force them back.

"Yes," Peeta answers. "She was searching our bins. For food. But when my mother saw her, she yelled at her to go away. I felt so bad for her. Tobie burned the bread and mother blamed me instead. She hit me really bad that time, and I burned my hands when she told me to take it to feed the pigs. But I threw the bread to her instead. It was still good inside."

"What made you give her the bread?"

Peeta shrugs. "She looked so...hungry. Desperate. I wanted to help her. Somehow, I thought I should protect her. A strong person like her, she needs someone to protect her. And... I liked her so much. I wish I could give her all the bread in the world."

Sweet, innocent Peeta. He'd wanted to protect me from the beginning.

Dr Aurelius takes another note down and flicks back through his notebook, reading something quickly before continuing with his next question. "Tell me about the time you heard her sing."

Peeta smiles, his eyes lighting up. "It was in class. She was the only one who knew the valley song. And when she started singing, everything went silent, even the birds outside stopped to listen. It was beautiful. I think it was at that moment that I fell in love with her."

Dr Aurelius takes a few more notes and then looks up at Peeta sternly. "Peeta, you're only eleven years old and love is a very strong word. How do you know that you truly love her?"

Peeta is silent for a very long time, contemplating the question. "It's like...when I wake up, I think about her and when I fall asleep I think about her. She's...there's something there. I can see it in her. Even though she's strong and she doesn't like the other kids in school, I sort of feel like I should be there for her for some reason. Like it will be important some day. I can't explain it, I wish I could. Somehow, I know there'll be a day when she'll know it too."

I wish I could keep those words with me forever. Could it be, that even back then, he'd noticed me that much? This boy with the bread? I wasn't strong inside and he saw through that. I was only afraid, and hungry, and desperate and I didn't want Prim to feel the same things. That was what drove me. All I wanted was to support my family, and be the kind of person my father was.

Dr Aurelius takes a few more notes and then looks up at him. "Thank you, Peeta. That's all the questions I have for now. You may leave."

Eleven-year old Peeta nods. His eyes close and his head falls back on to the cushion.

Dr Aurelius changes back to his steady, calm tone. "I now want to speak to sixteen year old Peeta. You've both just been declared victors of the seventy fourth Hunger Games. I want to speak to that Peeta. If you are there, come forth."

Again, it's a few long moments before his eyes flicker open. Peeta frowns and sits up on the couch quickly. My heart reaches out to him. I still remember that look in his eyes when I'd told him my love for him was feigned to survive the arena. There was an array of emotions reflected in those eyes; pain, betrayal, disappointment, yet understanding. As if he'd suspected all along that our relationship was only for show, but didn't want to accept it.

Before Peeta can speak, Dr Aurelius introduces himself.

"Hi, my name is Dr Aurelius. I've been assigned to help you deal with your experience in the arena."

I scoff inwardly. As if any victor had ever been given the luxury of their own personal psychologist to keep the crazy at bay. I watch as Peeta and Dr Aurelius shake hands.

"Where's Katniss?" He asks suspiciously.

"Katniss is fine. She's being looked after and is in good health. You'll see her shortly." Dr Aurelius replies without even blinking an eye.

Peeta nods, a wave of relief passing over his face. He then frowns, and his hands fly down to his thigh, feeling the artificial leg that has been placed there. He exhales slowly. "Thought so."

"Peeta, I'd like to ask you a few questions about your experience in the arena. This is to help deal with post-trauma stress. Please answer as freely as you can. Is that okay?" Dr Aurelius asks. He tends to ask things like that, giving instructions first and then tacking that question on at the end. It's non-threatening in a way.

Peeta nods, grimacing. "That's fine."

Dr Aurelius begins to ask about every single experience we'd shared in the first arena, starting with why he decided to team up with the Careers.

"I needed to know their plans. Their usual strategy is to first team up and kill the other strongest tributes together. Katniss was their biggest target," Peeta replies. "I needed to keep track of the Careers' movements and protect her at the same time. If I knew where they were, I knew that she was safe."

Dr Aurelius asks what Peeta thought when I dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Careers and him.

Peeta's voice is thick and he takes a long time to answer. "The only thing I would have regretted, had I died right then, was that I wouldn't have been able to protect her from Cato."

"Why did you feel like you needed to protect her, to the point where you would have lost your life? Why did you not want to win yourself? All it would have taken was the strike of that knife at the very end." Dr Aurelius asks in a gentle, probing manner. The golden question.

"Why would I want to win then?" Peeta gives a dark laugh. "What would I have had to live for? There's something in her; she's different. Her spirit...everybody sees it. They respect her. Within her, there's hope. I recognised it the first time I saw her, even if I was too young to know it. Now that everybody in this country has seen her, they'll know. There's still hope, whatever it may bring now that it's all over."

Ominous words.

Dr Aurelius goes on, bringing up our moments in the cave, what he felt when we found each other, when I first kissed him, as I was nursing him back to health. What he thought when I knocked him out with the sleeping potion, knowing that I was going to the feast to get his medicine. The fear that I may not come back.

The questions are exhaustive. They go through every detail of our experience, making him recall every single memory we've had together and the feeling that this memory brought him. These are the memories that have been tampered with most, but Peeta answers each question with ease, as if it were only yesterday. It's as if these memories and feelings of me had been in there all along, locked away in the back of his mind.

Nobody really knows what happens to someone's mind when they're hijacked, what happens to their memories. Whether they're distorted, or just pushed back and practically forgotten. To be replaced with new, twisted and disturbing hallucinations brought about by the venom's spell.

Finally, Dr Aurelius dismisses this Peeta and like his eleven-year old incarnation, his eyes close and his head lolls back on to the cushion. Dr Aurelius takes a moment to write more notes - a whole two pages of his notebook - and takes a sip of water. He then speaks up, this time asking to recall seventeen year old Peeta. The one who has just been taken from the second arena, after I'd just been rescued by Plutarch and Haymitch to be taken to District Thirteen.

When Peeta opens his eyes, he is cautious and his answers short and wary. He's unsure of the consequences of divulging too much information. Dr Aurelius asks him to relax and answer honestly, but he rightfully refuses. Peeta clenches his jaw, folds his arms across his chest and glares at him. Dr Aurelius takes a few more notes, and then he clicks his fingers and Peeta's eyes close.

Dr Aurelius clears his throat. "Now, I want to speak to the present Peeta. I want him back in his own body now. If you've come back, when you're ready, come forth. Can you hear me?"

Peeta murmurs. His eyes remain closed as Dr Aurelius continues. "Peeta, I want you to remember everything we've spoken about today. I want you to keep these memories at the forefront. I want you to push back the memories that the Capitol has placed there. The ones that you say sparkle. They're not real. It's not that the experience that brought them about didn't happen, it clearly did. You are aware of that. But I want you to recognise that that period of your life did not affect who you were. They did not affect your memories of Katniss, nor have they ever." Dr Aurelius says. His voice is soft, yet commanding, and still infinitely calm and paced. "Is that okay?"

Present-day Peeta nods.

"Now, once again, when I count to three and click my fingers, you will wake up. You will never respond to this sound again." Dr Aurelius says. Again, Peeta nods. His eyes remain closed.

Dr Aurelius counts down. _One, two, three_...and then the snap of his fingers sound.

Peeta awakes. He blinks and sits up, looking a little dazed.

"Welcome back, Peeta. How do you feel?" Dr Aurelius asks, his pen poised at the ready.

Peeta takes the time to rub his eyes and leans forward. "Strange. It's as if I was dreaming," he frowns. "But the dreams I had, they were real, like memories. They actually happened—it was like I was reliving them."

Dr Aurelius nods, writing his words down. "Good, good. Now, let me ask you about Katniss. How would you say you feel about her, having experienced this?"

"I feel like I haven't seen her for so long." Peeta laughs. "That's silly isn't it? I was only with her earlier, but it was like I wasn't seeing her properly...since...I don't know when. Does that make sense?"

Dr Aurelius nods. "Yes, that makes sense Peeta, and there's nothing wrong with that. You've been confused for quite a while. Now tell me, if there was one thing that you could say to her – now this is only hypothetical, Katniss is okay and you _will_ see her shortly – if there was only _one_ thing you could tell her if you knew you were never going to see her again, what would that one thing be?"

This time, he doesn't hesitate. "I love you, Katniss. Where ever you're going, I wish I could go with you to protect you and be with you. I wouldn't be alive without you. So where ever you are, I'll wait for you. And where ever you're going, I'll go with you. If you'll allow it."

That's when I do something stupid. I start to cry. _Of course I'll allow it._

When Dr Aurelius calls me out, the tears are streaming down my face and my nose is all runny and stuffed up. Peeta looks surprised when he sees me, then his face softens and he gently wipes the tears from my cheeks. His hands reach out to me and for a moment I hold my breath as a thought flashes through my head, that he's reaching for my neck to strangle me. I tense and the thought passes in a second, leaving only the quick beat of my heart. He draws me into his arms and his soft, warm lips find mine and I kiss him back.

Dr Aurelius sits back in his chair, a somewhat satisfied expression on his face. "From what I've researched, I would say that went rather well, would you agree?"

"Agreed." I reply as Peeta strokes my cheek.

There's an enormous sensation of relief in me, like I've come home after a hard day of work. My muscles have suddenly relaxed. It feels like they've been tense for so long that I now realise how truly exhausted, wound up and stressed I've been. Peeta lifts me in the air and swings me around, almost losing balance as he laughs. I laugh with him. The moment is almost surreal.

He kisses me again before Dr Aurelius interrupts us. The time has come. Now it's my turn.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

I feel self-conscious as I sink into the couch and close my eyes. From the red light on the camera, I know that it's still running and Peeta's watching me from the bedroom. Dr Aurelius begins to speak, asking me to breathe in, listen to my breath, breathe out, and again, and again. We do this many times until I feel like I'm so lightheaded with all this air that I'm going to pass out.

Then it's as if his voice begins to fade away as he counts down. I don't even hear the click of his fingers and I'm out like a light.

When I come to, I'm lying on a sandy beach. At first I think I'm back in the second arena, but this feels different. The air is not humid and when I sit up and look around, I notice that the shore spans from each side of me to the very edges of the horizon. Ahead, the ocean goes as far as I can see. Behind me, there's scrub that leads into a wooded forest of pine trees. The sun is hot, but it doesn't burn. It hurts my eyes though, causing white spots in my vision. I put my hands up to shade myself and look away and at the same time, to my left, I suddenly feel a presence. And it's not just the presence, it's the change in the space next to me, which I'm quite sure was empty and is now occupied by a figure in white.

I frown, hardly recognising him. His hair glows copper red in the sunlight and I can see the familiar freckles that splatter across his fair skin. His dark eyes are framed with orange lashes and the recognition finally clicks in my mind. It's Darius. He's back in his white Peacekeeper uniform, which dazzles my eyes in the bright sunlight. Darius laughs when he sees me. To my surprise, he begins to speak. "Miss me much?"

Despite myself and this strange situation, which I'm sure isn't real at all, the corners of my lips turn up in a smile and I push him to the side. "You wish!"

My eyes have gotten used to the bright sunlight now as Darius chuckles. But his expression changes and his tone is sombre when he speaks. "There's not much time, so I've only come back to say this to you, Katniss. You can't blame yourself for the actions of others. They took advantage of all of us. When I put myself between Thread and Gale, I knew what I was doing, and I don't regret it one bit. It was all for you, Katniss."

I frown, confused, as Darius lifts his hand to caress my cheek. "All for you..."

I'm too taken aback and lost in thought to shy away as he softly kisses me. His lips are soft and dry and I can smell his scent on them, like a combination of almond and honey. He pulls away, speaking softly. "I've been wanting to do that for a long, long time."

The next moment, he's gone.

What's just happened?

"Darius?" I call, looking around. I stand up to go and look for him, but I don't even know where to start. I'm all alone on this beach. "Darius!"

"Katniss," I hear a voice behind me. I whirl around, facing the woods. It's him, my first and only Capitol friend.

I can't believe my eyes. "Cinna!"

I rush forward, throwing my arms around him. I feel his arms around me, his hands smoothing across my back. When we pull away, he's smiling gently at me. "I knew I could bet on you, Katniss. You've made me proud."

I'm wiping a tear away from my eye. In the sunlight, I can see the gold glinting on his eyelids. I smile softly and my voice breaks. "I couldn't have done it without you. Even after they took you away..."

Cinna shakes his head. "Don't say it. I knew what I was getting myself into. But it was all for the good, my mockingjay. You stayed strong and you flew above all of us."

I'm leaning on him and I give him another hug, squeezing him in my arms. He whispers in my ear. "You did it, but you can't give up, Katniss. Keep strong. My bets are still on you."

And with that, he's vanished from my arms and I've collapsed on to the sand on my hands and knees. There is a whiff of that emptiness again, but I shake my head, willing it to go away. Not here, not now; not when I've come so far.

When I stand up, I take a deep breath and exhale as slowly and calmly as I can.

I guess this is goodbye to all of them. I understand now that I can't keep carrying this guilt with me. Their deaths weren't a result of my actions alone. It made up the bigger picture. They knew the consequences of their actions, but made the decision to sacrifice themselves to make this world a better place. It's for them that I have to keep fighting. I at least owe them that much.

I wander into the woods. It's cool and damp in the shade of the trees. I hear the sound of waves in the distance. In the woods, the sounds of bird calls and wood creatures surround me. The rustle of leaves and crackle of branches. This is my kind of place.

My feet wander. As I explore, I begin to see shadows of people. At first, I'm not sure if I'm seeing correctly, but the outline of the shadows become clearer, darker. Some shadows wave their hand at me, as if in goodbye. I hesitate and then lift my hand and wave back. Then the shadow disappears.

"Hey," a familiar, smooth voice behind me says. It's the same charming voice that had offered me a sugar cube.

Finnick sits at the base of a tall tree, still dressed in his army fatigues. His honey blonde hair is a mess, but he's still as handsome as he was. I hesitate for a moment, the guilt overwhelming me. He'd only been back with Annie for a short while before he died.

I will my legs to move and I walk up and collapse on to the ground next to him. "Hey, yourself."

There's a pause as Finnick takes the time to exhale slowly, as if savouring the scent of sea and the trees around us. Finally, he speaks.

"Look, don't beat yourself up, Katniss. We all thought we were just going to film a propos down a dead street. Nobody knew about those extra pods. Besides, we all knew what we were getting into when we followed you." He speaks quietly, but there is an edge in his voice. It's a hint of blame, of resentment, and I can't help but feel overwhelmed by guilt and regret.

He continues. "Annie's pregnant. If only I could have the chance to be there for her and our baby."

My heart falls so quickly it sickens me. I want to reach out to him, but I feel like it wouldn't be appropriate. Finnick takes a stick and starts drawing swirls in the dirt, as if trying to find something to occupy his hands. I realise that they're not swirls, but knots.

"I don't want to leave things like this. So please, can you tell her that I love her? And that... that she'll be alright." Finnick says quietly.

"I will."

"And Peeta... he's okay?"

"He's better than he was."

Finnick nods. "Good. I was worried. You two need each other. You give people hope. Together, you'll make it. You'll make the country a better place for the baby. Promise me you'll do it, won't you?"

His blue eyes penetrate mine.

"I promise."

He lifts the corners of his mouth in a smile and his blue eyes crinkle in the corners. He drops the stick and touches my shoulder momentarily. There's only silence as I watch him fade away.

It returns, the empty feeling of despair, depression, sadness, loneliness. The black, disgusting gunk has settled back in my stomach and I want to stick my fingers down my throat and throw it up. I want to clean my insides dry. I want to take something sharp and scrape the dirt off my hands, my skin, and cut a hole deep into me to let this thing out. Maybe then I wouldn't be so terribly disgusted with myself, with the past.

If only I'd made sure that Finnick hadn't stayed back. If I'd made sure that he kept up with the rest of us, he'd still be here. He would still be able to see his baby grow.

But now I have to keep my promise. I have to do my best for this campaign, and change this world so that his baby and all the district children can live in a better place. I just need to do that.

I feel weak at the knees and lean on the tree for support as I stand up. I continue on into the woods. I come across more of these shadows. Some wave, some simply stand and watch me as I wander further in, the leaves crunching beneath my feet. I swear, I can make out the shape of Madge, the mayor's daughter who I'd become close friends with after I'd come back from the first arena. The girl who'd given me the mockingjay pin that had actually belonged to her aunt, a fallen Tribute. The same girl who showed up in the snow at our house to give Gale the morphling.

The shadow becomes clearer, more opaque, and I recognise her features. She smiles at me, but doesn't say a word. It makes me sad that she hasn't come forth to speak, but I wave to her and say, "I still have the mockingjay pin. It means so much, you know that. Not just for me but for everybody."

She smiles again, tilting her head, and then fades away.

I think I also see Peeta's father, his wiry frame leaning against a tall tree. When I approach it, I just know it's him, the man who gave me the cookies and would always trade for my squirrels. "Peeta's a good person. I love him, I really do." I say. The shadow nods and it, too, disappears with the rest of them.

Then I hear the crunch of leaves and twigs to my left and I turn in the direction of the sound. A few metres away, a familiar, large figure appears from behind a tree. I recognise the built, tall frame immediately.

"Boggs!" I shout, running up to him.

Boggs chuckles. It's like he's really standing in front of me. I straighten my stance and raise my fingers straight to my forehead in a military salute.

"At ease, Soldier Everdeen." He punches my shoulder playfully before his expression changes. He takes a breath, frowning at me. "Why'd you do it, Katniss?"

I frown. "Tell me you didn't know about the parachute bombs. Please."

Silence.

I shake my head. Despite my hatred and disgust for Snow, I can't help but feel that what Snow said was true. "I couldn't do it. Coin would have taken me out down the track anyway. Only one can survive."

"This isn't the Games, Katniss. From now on, you need to think carefully of the consequences your decisions will have, not only on yourself but others."

I nod.

"There's still a way to go, Katniss, and people will try to play you. And if it doesn't go their way, they'll try to kill you. But remember, just with the nightlock, you can choose to play on your own terms."

"And Peeta? I don't understand why you told me to kill him. You know I couldn't."

"I was trying to save you. He was bent on killing you."

"He's okay now. He'll be okay."

"You really believe so?"

I nod. "I do."

Boggs is silent for a moment, taking in the expression on my face, contemplating my answer. "I'll take your word for it."

He begins to move away. I want to call after him and hold him back, but something stops me, telling me to let him go.

I continue to explore the woods. The shadows appear less and less. I wonder how long I'll be here, and who else is here as I head back to the beach, towards a fallen log lying in the shade at the edge of the wood. It's damp and covered in moss. As I sit, I see a shape form in the corner of my eye. I recognise that duck-tailed shirt at the back, the long blonde hair and those blue eyes. And suddenly I'm blubbering like a baby and I've got Prim in my arms, squeezing her so tight that I don't want to let go. I want to take her back with me, to live the life that she deserves.

"It's okay, Kat," she says, because she knows that I can't.

"Why did you go, Prim?!" I demand. I keep her close against me. "Why?!"

"It's okay, now. You can't change the past." Prim replies. She snuggles up to me and I place my arm around her shoulder, stroking her long, blonde hair. "Besides, it's nice living with Pa."

"Pa… he's with you?" I ask. Prim nods.

"Yes. He's fine, he's happy. We both are."

I never thought about there being any sort of life after you die, whether you saw your loved ones again, or whether you just didn't see anything at all. I thought that perhaps you would just cease being and the world would go on as it always did, just as it had before you were born.

Prim continues. "Pa's sorry he couldn't come today. He wasn't allowed, but he's asked me to tell you this. Peeta's a good person. You have his blessing. Peeta will take care of you and protect you. Trust in him, Katniss, and he'll come back to you."

"What about you, Prim? What are you going to do?" I ask.

Prim smiles sadly. "I miss you, of course. But I'll wait. It's okay. I'm happy now, waiting here for you and Ma. We both are."

I nod. I don't feel like there's much time left, so I put my arms around her again and hug her tightly against me. "I love you, little duck. I miss you, and I'm sorry."

"I miss you too, Kat." She pulls away. "I never said thank you that day. I never did. I love you."

And with that, she's gone and my hands are empty.

The woods are silent. Prim's voice, her warmth and presence lingers with me as I stand up and head back towards the beach. I find the spot where I initially woke up next to Darius and lie down on the sand, facing up towards the sky. It's still blue and bright, an infinite expanse of cloudless space that stretches up and up. The ocean continues to lap and foam at the shore.

They all knew what they were doing. I need to respect that and keep fighting. I must stay strong. I must stay with Peeta. And I need to do what I can to make this world a better place.

Haymitch was right. The war was won, but the game isn't over, not by a long shot. _I'm sorry, Prim, _I say to myself. _You'll need to wait a lot longer before I can join you and Pa. I have to keep my promise to you and Finnick. People are relying on me._

Time passes, I'm not sure how long, but it stretches out. It could be minutes or hours. Eventually, the sun begins to set. It slowly sinks down in to the horizon, painting the sky a soft burnt orange colour. And there is only one thing that I feel at that moment.

Peace.

.

The first thing I'm aware of as I open my eyes is the complete and utter silence that surrounds me. I sit up, glancing at the camera. The red light is still on. I wonder what I've said and done, what Dr Aurelius has asked me, and what Peeta is thinking about all of this.

Dr Aurelius still sits in his chair next to me, writing notes. When he's done, he looks up at me through his thick glasses, an expectant expression on his fac.e

"So, Katniss, tell me the first word that comes to your mind: how do you feel?"

"Peaceful," I reply.

Dr Aurelius nods, looking satisfied with my answer. He notes this down and continues. "Now, during your experience, you met with several people close to you or with whom you've shared a significant experience. What did they say?"

The conversations flit back in to my mind. "They told me that... I can't blame myself for what's happened. I can't beat myself up for the deaths of others. And that I needed to stay strong and move on."

Dr Aurelius nods and writes this down. "Good, good. Wonderful. And what was your reaction to those words?"

I reflect for a moment. "I suppose that's true. For those who were in the rebellion, they knew what they were doing. But I can't say the same for Prim. Or Madge, or Peeta's family. All those who died in district twelve. All the innocent civilians who died in the Capitol. The children behind the gate. I guess I have to stay strong for them, but the guilt is still there. I don't think I can ever rid myself of that. I just have to keep fighting."

Dr Aurelius looks perplexed at my response and his brow creases as he writes a whole page of notes.

"There's a few more things I'd like to research before we have our next session, Katniss. I'll arrange a time with Effie during the course of filming. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, doctor." I respond.

Am I a tougher nut to crack than Peeta? Is that it? Peeta, who had been hijacked and tortured to the point that he was almost a completely different person? Do my scars run deeper than that?

Dr Aurelius turns off the camera and disconnects and packs his equipment with Peeta's help. Peeta accompanies him across the hall to Haymitch's suite. I go to follow them but from the front door I hear them exchange words in hushed tones. I only manage to catch the end of the conversation.

_"__...sharp objects with the possibility of self-harm."_

Immediately I turn and head back to the couch. I hear the front door close, but Peeta doesn't return. Probably sitting in Haymitch's session, for some reason.

I don't know how to take this. I feel upset and angry. I feel like I'm being left out in the loop. What's going on that can't be said to my face? What are they all playing at?

Suddenly I feel as if the air has been sucked out of this room and I'm suffocating. My heart paces quickly and there's a tight, painful knot in my chest.

I head to the window. I need fresh air. I need to get out of here, now. I need the woods, the trees, the animals around me. I need my bow and arrow. I need Gale beside me.

I push away the lace curtain and find that the window is not actually a window, but a sliding door that leads out to a balcony. I fumble with the lock and it finally clicks open and I push the door aside. It's heavy.

I stumble out on to the tile of the balcony, cool and dusty under my feet. I rush to the very edge and hold on to the railing, breathing in deeply. The Capitol air is cool and thick, with a strange tang to it. There's a faint hint of smoke, car fumes, chemicals; there's an artificialness here in the Capitol that's tangible even in the air.

My heart rate begins to slow and I look out on to the expanse of green lawn and gardens of the hotel. I lean down, resting my head on my hands.

The beach and the woods come back into my mind. For some reason, Darius felt some affection for me. This is new to me. He'd covered his emotions quite well.

Cinna knew that helping me would lead to pain and death, but he did it so that real change could be brought about in this country. And he believed in me, and still believes in me.

And Finnick... I think about him with regret. The only thing I can do now is to keep going and make this world a better place for Annie and their baby.

And Boggs... he was protecting me, too.

His words ring in my head. _People will try to play me, but I can play on my own terms._

I can't keep going along with people's games. I need to be careful and watch them, make my own decisions. I can play on my own terms. And who knows what Peeta and Haymitch and Dr Aurelius are discussing in Haymitch's supposed session. It's about me, for sure.

It's a long while before I hear Peeta calling my name from inside. When I turn to head back, he's standing at the doorway, the curtain pushed back, watching me carefully. His face gives nothing away.

I arrange my face in a calm, easy going expression as I walk towards him and put my arms around his middle. I feel his arms hugging me back, his breath exhaling slowly from his chest. He presses his cheek to my head and holds me against him. _Fine, then. Say nothing, _I think._ Two can play at this game._


End file.
